


...Fuck?

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: WTF? [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mpreg?, Other, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 117,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange things are going on in Elko, Nevada. When Sam and Dean decide to investigate, they find that strange things are also happening – between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam's eyes burned holes in Dean's back. If looks could kill... He ground his teeth. If looks could kill, Dean would have been dead for weeks, but today was another highlight of the indignities Sam was put through by his older brother.

Taking a deep breath, Sam made himself concentrate on the queue and not on his brother who'd taken a seat while Sam waited in line to order their coffee. It wasn't that Sam was the one who was made to stand up and wait despite his sore back – which Dean very well knew because he'd watched Sam being thrown around by the witch – no, what made Sam mad was the superior smirk on his brother's face when Dean had told him to take care of the order because the girl at the counter had no tits. And that reminded him of...

"Hey, what can I do for you?" 

"Um," Sam stammered, hating Dean even more when said girl interrupted his thoughts. It was true that she was flat-chested, but he recognized that she had a nice smile and even teeth in a fresh face with clean skin and wide blue eyes that accentuated her fair red hair. It was mean to reduce her to her almost non-existent bosom, just like Sam felt offended by his brother's rude comments on Sam's admittedly huge, but not calamitous feet. Just because Sam didn't have Dean's night vision and tended to walk into things in the total darkness of the motel rooms Dean insisted on, didn't mean that it was his fault. He didn't do it on purpose, after all!

The girl gave him an encouraging nod and Sam blushed. Great, lost in thought again, and now Dean would get to gloat about his red cheeks. He forced a smile on his face and ordered a large plain coffee for Dean and a white chocolate mocha for himself – another reason for Dean to gloat, but Sam couldn't be bothered any longer. He liked his coffee sweet, period. Okay, so he'd recently turned to adding even more sugar to his diet, but as long as he could still beat the pants off Dean when they sparred, he couldn't see a problem with it.

When the girl relayed his order, Sam caught another quick glimpse at her breast. She might not have enough there to fill more than an A-sized cup, but she wasn't wearing a bra at all, and he could discern the shape of her nipples through the blouse. Quickly looking up again, he told himself that he had no right to check her out, and then found himself annoyed when he felt his own nipples tightening up into sharp peaks. Was it sympathy he felt toward her?

This time, she didn't have to pull him from his musings. Sam paid and went to wait at the counter for their drinks. The guy who prepared them took his own sweet time, and Sam forced himself to tamp down his impatience. Again, his thoughts began to wander. He'd always been impatient, but not as much as recently. Also, as of recently, he tended to be more annoyed with Dean than ever. It didn't affect their hunting – yet – but Sam was beginning to wonder how long this could continue before one of them got injured.

It was Dean's fault; at least Sam had tried to bring this up, but, and that was where he blamed his brother, of course, Dean Winchester didn't do _talk._ Not even when Sam had reminded him of the condom in the motel bathroom and its significance. However, when Sam had waited for Dean to acknowledge that they'd had sex while Sam had been turned into a woman, Dean had simply shrugged and suggested that a previous customer had left the disgusting thing behind and that nothing had ever happened. Sam hadn't even gotten so far as to remark on himself being a woman at the time, but even if he had, he was convinced that Dean would have denied it and claimed it had been a dream. After all, Sam tended to have funny dreams, right?

Dream or not, Sam had to admit that he had had strange desires since that night. Dean making love to him had always been a well-kept secret wish of his. Oh, they'd jerked off together as teens, but that had been it. Sam had already known back then how much he desired his brother, but already then Dean would have shut him up if he'd ever mentioned it. Dean and emotions, no way. And Dean feeling something for a guy, he'd rather have his dick cut off before admitting to that, Sam was sure. So Sam found himself alone with evolving fantasies which became more and more explicit, just as his sexual needs had seemed to increase impossibly since that night...

"One plain and one white choc mocha," the guy at the counter called out. Sam thanked him and picked up the coffees, then joined his brother at the table, where Dean seemed to be staring at Sam's chest. Great, he was about to be the target of yet another lame titties joke. Wanting Dean to get it over with, Sam glared at him. "What?"

* * *

Sam, from the day Dean had been put in charge of him, meaning before Sam could say one word, had forever been the sensitive, moody, emo, one. On the surface, anyway. Having an older brother who dared not express his equally intense – or so Dean assumed – range of feelings other than as humor when their dad wasn't around and occasionally, anger, had freed Sam to run the gamut. That included running his mouth about it all. Around his late teens, Dean had often been envious of Sam's lack of verbal inhibition. He'd had to find other ways to cope. Like drinking. Weed. Working on his precious car, that and his weapons being his only possessions of any lasting effect. Sex... with chicks, of course. Pie, mass quantities there-of. And hunting. Yup, that about summed it up. 

Then there was ragging on Sam. If his younger brother was full of sighs and in-depth sharing of _feelings_ and his arsenal of bitchfaces, Dean had pithy comments and sarcastic snorts or simple stonewalling avoidance for all of them. After twenty-odd years of this, their lives were pretty much set in stone in that regard. 

Take the... the _incident._ Both brothers knew damned well what had happened in that motel room, but Sam wouldn't stop bringing it up and Dean shut him down every time. Men didn't turn into women for a night. They'd been either too drunk (or Dean had been) to know a dick from... Well, who knew... Or more likely spelled, hexed, cursed. Something, anything, that could explain that Sam had not had temporary girl parts, and Dean hadn't had sex with him. He just hadn't puzzled it out yet. And he didn't want Sam's 'help'. 

Speaking of girl parts, the local Starschmucks barista seemed to be nearly lacking in a couple of necessary features. Dean could sympathize, because he'd have been a sad little man indeed had he been deficient in the endowment department, but he had a reputation to keep up. So therefore, he settled into a chair well away from the counter and left it to Sam to get their morning coffee. Really, Dean always preferred any greasy spoon diner where he could fill his stomach with carbs and pig and not the fancy pastries, but he'd let Sam pick and caffeine was caffeine. Leaning back and slouching in his chair, Dean spread his legs wide to let everyone know just who the big dog on the premises was, and waited for their order to come up.

Damn, it was slow. As usual, the drive-through took precedence over the inside crowd, and it seemed to take forever. Finally, Sam wove his way between the low tables. Besides high spots of color on his cheeks and jittering impatience to match Dean's unshown case of the same, Dean's eyes caught something else. It wasn't cold, but Sam's nipples poked up in tiny hard peaks through the thin fabric of his tee-shirt. Lifting an eyebrow, Dean made a point of staring. "Happy to see me, Sam, or are you that eager for your morning Joe?" 

* * *

Of course, Dean wouldn't refrain from commenting on Sam's nipples. It irked Sam even more because Dean refused to acknowledge that in their 'dream' Dean couldn't get enough of them. Sam hoped his quick wit would save him. At least until his brother thought up the next comeback. 

"Why wouldn't I be happy to see you?" he grinned slyly. "But you're right in so far that I'm eager for my morning _Josie."_ Sam nodded meaningfully toward the barista. The girl's name was Cecily, but Dean wouldn't know that. "I'll meet with her during her break for some _fitness training_ and you can work on clogging your arteries at the nearest greasy spoon."

* * *

Dean stood and took his coffee. Hearing Sam's supposed game plan for the flat-chested barista's break time, he frowned and pursed his lips. Now that was over the top, and he was convinced Sam was lying just to wind him up. No girl was really good enough to touch his brother, not even his Amazon-like blonde-Barbie co-ed former girlfriend, regretfully departed. To cover his departure from nonchalance, Dean blew on the hot coffee. Steam rose, temporarily blurring the towering wall of pecs and abs in front of his face. Why must Sam always lord his height advantage over him?

"'Fitness training'... Is that your idea of a euphemism, Jillian Michaels? Well, make sure to give your workout partner a few pointers on building pectorals, 'cause you've already got more than she has going on in that department," Dean chortled. "Your loss." He knew he was right. Sam's chest muscles were... And lately... He made himself stop that line of thought right there, before his own parts started doing anything embarrassing. "Anyway, we'll be a hundred miles away by then." 

* * *

"And what gave you the idea that I fancy Tina Small?" Sam threw back, his eyes narrowing. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might like my partners flat-chested?"

He caught himself just in time to shut up. Dean really didn't need to know that ever since 'that' night, Sam had been beating off not to the image of a woman but to that of a man – a man that possibly shared more than only a few physical traits with his brother, but maybe Sam wasn't really ready to admit that to himself yet. It was difficult, however, with Dean standing before him, blowing on his coffee, when the exhale made the hairs on Sam's arms stand up.

"Maybe we should get a hundred miles away _now,_ " Sam suggested testily. He needed to be away from Dean so he couldn't any longer smell the musky aroma of uniquely Dean underlaid with a trace of fresh male sweat – and since when had he become so sensitive to scents anyway? 

"Just reminding you that the smell of your breakfast burgers makes me carsick, so we might wanna reach our next destination before you stuff your face."

* * *

Tina Small? That British woman who had claimed to be blessed with the world's biggest knockers? That was more their dad's era, and was just... urgh! Even tit size had limits, and that was way beyond. It took Dean a few seconds to think up a suitable reply to Sam's ridiculous – and not in the ha-ha funny way – claim that he preferred small-breasted women. "Well, guess you'd better join the Itty Bitty Titty Committee soon, Sam," Dean snorted with another deliberate leer at Sam's, "before it's too late." His nipples must hurt, how stiff they appeared jutting through that soft cotton. Dean's mouth started to water, but he swallowed the drool. He was just hungry.

Apparently, Sam was not.

"Yeah, well... Carsick is what you do, so I won't risk Baby's leather with the possibility of you puking on it," Dean retorted to what he considered Sam's threat. "So, fine. Consider yourself greasy spoon-free for the next couple hundred miles. Whad'joo eat, anyway, too much rabbit food?" Turning away, Dean strode outside and across the parking lot. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. If they didn't eat in the car, Sam's guts might settle down in a few hours. He could wait. Baby's paint sheened so perfect he could see his not-so-happy face in it. Dean plastered on his 'I am so not bothered by your BS' face, got in, and started Baby's engine. How long it took Sam to arrive would tell Dean if his brother was trying to chat up the barista or what. Wishing he had shades that weren't busted, Dean looked in the rearview mirror. 

* * *

Somehow surprised – but not at all disappointed – that Dean didn't ridicule him for knowing about British porn stars of the Eighties, Sam decided to ignore the 'Itty Bitty Titty' remark. His nipples were throbbing and the last thing he wanted was having Dean focus on them even more. Instead, Sam just listened to Dean mocking him about his food preferences and, again, swallowed down a snarky comeback.

What was it with Dean lately, anyway? Oh, for sure, his older brother had always given him shit about almost anything Sam didn't have in common with him, but recently it had really started to get out of hand. Sighing to himself, he finished his mocha and gave the barista a wistful glance. It wasn't the girl that held his attention, though; he was yearning for another mug of the deliciously sweet brew. However, he could clearly hear the Impala – if he lingered, Dean's mood would plunge even further, and Sam wasn't going to listen to his brother's disapproval for several hundred miles or however far it was to their next job.

The thought made him frown even more: why was it always Dean who chose their next hunt? Sam had proven his worth on so many occasions that it could only be explained by spite that Dean kept treating him like a novice with next to no experience in hunting!

Bringing it up would only serve to make their trip even worse than it would be in any event, so Sam swore to himself to refrain from addressing it. Nonetheless, he didn't succeed in keeping the scowl off his face when he sat in the car – and was immediately hit by the next indignity: regardless of how far they had to go, Sam was demoted to riding shotgun. Dean would rather spend the night in a flea-ridden motel than let him drive.

Sam folded his arms across his chest – which also took care of Dean's annoying and inappropriate staring at Sam's nipples – and made a show out of looking out of the window.

* * *

Sam had absolutely nothing to say to him, not even another bitchy comment or some Mensa-esque follow-up reasoning for his gastric distress. So, the silent treatment then. Two could play at that game. Dean shoved Pyromania into the tape deck and drove. 

Fifty miles later, he was bored, but kept his mouth shut. Dean considered switching the music to Journey and really torturing Sam, but instead he popped the tape out – carefully, the thing was only a few years younger than he was – and tried to find a halfway decent radio channel. Glances at Sam revealed only that he was staring out the window, motionless in his seat.

After another hundred miles, Dean's stomach was growling, his ass was starting to sweat (damn cheap 3-pack boxer briefs, all they had in his size last time he needed some), and he was fed up with static and hip-hop. He needed to eat. And piss. The venti Starbucks had gone right through him. "How you feeling now, Sam?" he finally asked of his silent brother. 

* * *

Just when Sam's back was really starting to ache from sitting in a cramped position for too long, Dean asked him how he felt. Although he'd gotten more and more annoyed with his brother the longer they rode in silence, the question brought moisture to his eyes because it showed him that Dean cared. Somehow, being moved by this fact irritated him even more, but he knew that if he attempted to explain it, he'd burst into tears, which was unthinkable for him, and a definite 'no'.

"'M okay," he managed, aware that if Dean didn't buy it, he'd get a comment on the lines of, 'time to man up, Samantha,' but that would hopefully be it. It was better than having Dean become seriously worried, suggesting that Sam was sick rather than simply his usual bitchy self, as Dean never stopped complaining.

In truth, his back was killing him, as was his bladder, another body part his brother had often and copiously commented on. Sam knew that he only needed to go so often because he looked after himself by watching his fluid intake. The water he drank had to leave the body, and the only – healthy – options were sweating and peeing, period. 

Sam felt guilty for these not-so-friendly thoughts about his brother, but after he'd continued to stare out of the window for another while, he was confident that he could speak without crying like a girl. "You must be hungry," he offered. "Why don't we find something to eat soon?" He couldn't help adding, however, "Maybe there's even a place that sells salad. Some greens wouldn't hurt you, either."

* * *

"Dude, need man food. Meat. Pie. Ug," Dean deliberately grunted like a caveman. "I was hungry when I woke up. Thanks for caring, though, Sammy," he said lightly. No need to get all sappy about it. He considered reaching over to ruffle Sam's too-long hair, but didn't do it. His brother seemed to be extra-touchy today, close to tears, what the hell? The only time Sam cried was when death was involved. Dean decided not to comment about PMS, either.

"Okay, we'll stop in the next town, eat, stretch our legs, get Baby gassed up." The ever-half-empty tank. No one else had better say anything, but his girl was a total gas-hog, even after their dad had had her converted to take unleaded. A few minutes and miles later, the signs of a small town appeared on the horizon: a few church spires, the blue-green oval of a water tower, grain elevators. 

* * *

Hadn't Sam just been torn between feeling annoyed and tearful? When Dean pulled his Neanderthal act, Sam suddenly found himself shivering with yet another – equally unwelcome – emotion: lust. Or didn't that count as an emotion? In any event, how was it possible to become sexually aroused by his brother pretending to be primitive? It didn't make sense. Oh, Dean was attractive, handsome even, although he'd deny it if Sam ever dared to point it out. Still, he really shouldn't react in that fashion, not to another guy, and especially not to his own brother.

To Sam's relief, Dean didn't continue playing caveman but announced that they'd stop for a refuel in the next town. The Impala needed gas, too, and that gave Dean something else than Sam to focus on. Sam relaxed gradually when it became clear to him that the soft smile on his brother's face must be caused by thinking of his 'Baby,' which, for once hadn't been involved in their latest monster hunt. If she'd suffered as much as a hairline scratch, Dean would be scowling, but he looked almost happy now, caressing the steering wheel. 

And... why was Dean rubbing his butt on the upholstery? Sam blushed beet red at the mental image of Dean getting off on the soft leather seats under them. He turned his burning face to the window again and hoped Dean either hadn't noticed or would ignore his weird reaction.

* * *

Tuned in as he usually was to Sam's mood and body language, Dean noticed that after having barely moved since they'd hit the road, Sam shifted his body a few times, mostly to turn his back even further. Classic Sam hiding something. Those shoulders were set in 'fuck off' configuration. He seemed to shiver, though. A high patch of color blazed high on his cheek, the one Dean could half see, then more of Sam's face.

This time, Dean reached across the space, leaning toward the middle. "You feeling alright?" he repeated his earlier question. He pushed past a personal space bubble invasion, which Sam never appreciated much other than when he was drunk. They hadn't touched each other at all since... Well. Electricity crackled between them weirdly as Dean closed the last inches with his fingers. Sam had shaved close that morning, and his soft skin was still baby-smooth, his face very warm, slightly damp with sweat. 

"I think you might have a fever," Dean told his brother, while sternly telling himself to get his wandering hand under control. He removed it from the side of Sam's heated face, over-aware of the little mole near the heel of his hand, the fuzzy hipster sideburn brushing his pinky. "Take some Tylenol when we stop, hey." Dean shifted, too, and wrapped the tingling palm back around the cool hard border of the steering wheel. 

* * *

Again, Dean showed his concern, and Sam knew that he had to fight the lump in his throat: Dean would forever deny that he had something like a mother-hen mode, but Sam had been on the receiving end enough times. Although he liked Dean's care when he wasn't feeling well, this, today was... different. Still, his brother's gentle hand on his face... Sam forced himself to take a deep breath

"Nah, I don't think I have a fever. Nor do I think there's a cold spot here inside your Baby. It's just me, bro," Sam grinned. "Unless you've forgotten that I've always been – and always will be – hotter than you," he finished with a smirk to make sure Dean caught the double meaning.

"I won't say no to something cool to drink, though, but whatever place you pick is fine with me," Sam allowed generously.

* * *

"You think you're hotter than me?" Dean mock-boggled at Sam. "Really? You're hot, sure, all tall and," he ran his eyes up Sam's visible attributes, "like, hulking, but... Well, what good is it if you're not going to use it?" Mostly Sam used his looks to his advantage with grieving witnesses, and that was more his demeanor, anyway. He could pull almost as much tail as Dean, if he tried. 

* * *

If Sam had felt soft toward his brother a minute ago, well it hadn't lasted long, he concluded. So yes, maybe he'd provoked his brother by teasing him and implying that women may prefer Sam, but Dean knew exactly that Sam would never act on it. Just like Dean had immediately brushed aside Sam's earlier announcement of seducing the barista.

Instead of returning a joking comment as Sam had expected – okay, hoped – however, what he got was a topic Dean kept bringing up that he very well knew would upset Sam.

"How many times do I need to clarify it to you?" Sam replied in a voice laced with acid. "Unlike you, I don't enjoy mindless sex with strangers. I need a connection, but I guess you'll never understand that. After all, I've been trying for years to explain to you the concept of being in love."

What annoyed him far more than Dean's ignorance were the looks Dean let wander over Sam's body, but that wasn't something he could ever admit to, of course: if Dean had even the slightest clue how attracted Sam felt to him, he'd never hear the end of it. Or Dean would never speak to him again. Sam wasn't sure which of the two would be worse.

* * *

The next reply from Sam personified the word BITCH. Dean listened to the familiar mini-rant, mouthing the words 'I need a connection' along with. "Yeah, yeah, you're superior because you don't mind not being touched by another human being for months, years. Whatever. Not that I really know what that is, but sure, I would..." he shrugged, "love to be in love. Or something. For a while. Why do you think I'm always having sex, besides the obvious? I'm looking. Just... No luck yet. So for now, _this_ connection will have to suffice." Though it was gonna make Sam go off on him again, Dean reached down and grabbed his crotch to illustrate which connection.

"You know though, it wouldn't be fair to whoever, unless they were a stone cold hunter. Always gotta move on. Y'know? And what if I got bored?" Holy crap, he was having a chick-flick revelation right now and that was enough of that! Dean snorted, needing to stop thinking about shit like that. It was depressing. He'd been in love with Cassie for a minute. And that yoga instructor Lisa... kinda, maybe. Other than a schoolboy crush on the first girl he'd kissed, that was all. Sam probably knew all about that, being in love, with Jessica but look how that had ended. If anything, it was more reason to never get close to people. "You're the only person I can stand long-term and sometimes not even that."

* * *

"Dean..." Sam started speaking but stopped almost immediately. He and Dean had been debating this for years and they'd never agree on the topic of sex vs. love. His shoulders sagged in resignation. Everything Dean had said was true – for Dean – but that didn't necessarily mean that Sam was wrong. They were, and would always be, different. Incompatible. A contradiction that was perfectly summarized by Dean that Sam was _the only person he could stand long-term and sometimes not even that._

"Feeling's mutual," Sam muttered. He hated not being with Dean and at the same time his brother was driving him nuts. And that was on a good day, when his emotions weren't all over the place like they were today, for whatever reason. Maybe Dean was right, and he was coming down with something, after all.

"Dean, please," Sam pleaded and looked at Dean, hoping that what Dean called his puppy dog look would work, "can we just find a place to eat and not fight?"

* * *

By then, they were nearing the edge of town, a few houses scattered across the landscape interspersed with trees in shades of green. Dean took his foot off the gas. "We're not fighting. Are we?" Sam had let out one of his long-suffering sighs, but their exchange hadn't been all that heated, not like some of their fights. Sam liked to yell in that butch bellow of his and aim for the face. 

"Yes to the food." He was much more enthusiastic about that. "How about there?" Pointing to their kind of cafe, a couple blocks further, the name "Uncle Bob's Kitchen" in green paint on a white background on the sign, he glanced at Sam with a smile, wondering if it reminded him of Bobby, too. "Likely it's that, Mom and Pop's on the other side of town, or Granny's Greasy Grits on Main Street. No fancy coffee here." They had just passed a street sign announcing Main running perpendicular to their present course. 

* * *

"Bob's your uncle?" Sam cackled. "Let's go for it. I don't really feel like triple G today. As for fancy coffee – yeah, I know, go ahead and mock me all you want, I like the stuff, and it isn't as if we've had too many good things in our lives, right? Anyway, I'm going to buy a bottle of that caramel sludge they use at Starschmucks. That should serve to make even motel coffee potable."

Dean pulled up in the parking lot. Sam stepped out of the Impala and immediately stretched his body. "Nothing against Baby," he hurried to assure his brother, "it's just that I'm feeling a little stiff. Maybe it's old age," he winked, hoping that for once today Dean would not consider the remark a slight against being the older brother, but that he'd respond with something funny; Sam really needed a good laugh.

* * *

Sam didn't get it: Uncle Bob, Bobby. Disappointed, Dean made no further comment about his choice of venue. Signaling, he slowed to a crawl and turned into the lot between the diner and the tires-and-parts store next door, into an open parking spot. "Potable? By that you mean a caramel sludge and battery acid non-dairy creamer latte?" 

Dean couldn't help laughing at his own joke as he got out of the car. Looking for confirmation across Baby's roof, he froze at the sight of Sam in profile, mid-stretch, arms extended into the sky. Every muscle tight and flexed, Sam arched his back and threw back his head, baring his long throat. His shirt rode up enough to expose a couple inches of his toned stomach, including the thin dark line of happy trail. Damn, his brother had a nice ass, for a dude. Narrow, but round, Dean would never tell him that in a million years, not even to harass him. While he was at it, Dean's eyes wandered down the front. Sam always wore his shirts so long they entirely covered his fly, so to see it was a shock to the brain, almost. Yeah, his little brother was a man now but the evidence... not a bad bulge at all. God, he felt like a perv, ogling his own brother. His dick had chubbed in his jeans, like it thought it was a voting member of this association. Maybe his hunger was for more than just food. He'd have to deal with that soon.

Then the words Sam'd spoke just before filtered in: _I'm feeling a little stiff._

He wasn't the only one a little stiff. Frankly, Dean was grateful for his own long flannel, which he'd remembered to button that morning, thank goodness for small miracles. Just then, Sam's stretch ended with a little shake and Dean looked away quickly. Happy to have the car between them, he made a furtive adjustment. "Any older and you'd BE a stiff. Not. Baby's older than either of us and she's still alive and kicking." She took plenty of TLC and occasional replacement parts, but that was another thing Dean wasn't about to point out. "And if you're old? Don't even say that. What's that make me – crowbait?" he winced. "Feed me before I dry up and blow away."

* * *

"What?" Sam snarled when Dean made the expected derogatory comment on Sam's coffee preference. And... was his brother checking him out? He'd barely finished his stretch when Dean fired the next salvo: of course, he was annoyed by Sam pointing out his age. Sam just about managed to keep his mouth shut this time instead of muttering how nice it would be if Dean would dry up and blow away. Why couldn't Dean stop giving him crap, even if it was only for little while? "Yeah, let's go feed you," he acknowledged as he trotted behind Dean into the diner. 

Sam had thought his appetite had dwindled during their exchange, but when he caught sight of pancakes on a little boy's plate, he suddenly started drooling. "So, bacon cheeseburger and fries for you? I'll have a short stack with maple syrup and strawberry jam." He winked at his brother. "And a large caramel sludge. Plain for you?"

* * *

"Hey, all I meant was that most motel coffee's so god-awful, don't matter what you put in it, it still tastes like shit." Damn, Sam was still all pissy and glaring. Maybe breakfast would help. Dean crossed the parking lot and stalked into the restaurant. A sign reading, "Seat Yourself" stood next to the front counter and Dean proceeded to the first open booth. Sam was right behind. When he suggested what they should order, Dean's stomach growled again, but for whatever reason, he felt the need to contradict. 

"Black coffee, yeah, but I'll have pancakes, too. Save the heart attack special for later." Just when he was wondering where a waitress might be, he noticed Sam shifting in his seat. A lot. In twenty seconds, his butt must have rubbed a shine on the worn tan leatherette. He hadn't set up his laptop, which meant something else was occupying his mind. Dean cracked a huge grin. "Dude, you're wiggling around like a little kid who's desperately gotta pee. Go drain the lizard, I'll order if anyone decides to wait on us." 

* * *

While Dean chose a seat, Sam debated with himself whether he should go directly to the men's room, but decided against it: the way he and Dean had been bickering all day so far made him suspect a prank if he didn't order his food by himself. It wouldn't be the first time he bit into a forkful of pancakes, only to find them laced with mustard. Of course, in the past, Dean had more than once received salted cream on his pie in return, and after several rounds of murderous glaring they'd laughed it off and made peace, sworn to never again commit such atrocities against each other. Then they'd kept to their contract until the next, irresistible opportunity arose...

It felt like a memory of a previous lifetime. Sam sighed as he sat down, wincing at the pressure from his full bladder. However, before he could even think of something to say in order to distract Dean from noticing his predicament, he was already prompted by his grinning brother to 'go drain the lizard.'

Sam got up and looked around for a sign pointing to the restrooms. Then he turned to Dean. "I'd better not find anything weird with my food that _you_ ordered by the time I'm back," he growled and left quickly, not because he feared Dean's reply, but he wasn't ready to listen to stupid comments for the rest of their trip on his funny way of walking.

* * *

"Yeah, well, _you're_ the weird thing in your food." Dean muttered in the direction of Sam's retreating back. The few final words lacked conviction. Never having been as quick-tongued as Sam unless the words exchanged were laced with innuendo, Dean let the grade-school-level retort die on his lips. Man, Sam must've really had to go! He had waddled like a duck. Or like he had a sore butt. Or a hard-on. Huh. The former didn't usually happen to either of them on car rides of less than nine or ten hours. If it was the latter, Sam might be in there a while. Trying to piss though a stubborn erection... Good luck with that! Dean snickered to himself.

The appearance of their waitress – Suzanne according to her name tag – dislodged Dean from further consideration of the possible causes of Sam's gait. Average height and brunette, she was approaching middle age but she called him "Honey" and flipped her hair so he flirted back. Not like he didn't do that in his sleep. Dean ordered two stacks of pancakes, double order of bacon for himself, mixed fruit cup for Sam, and wasn't he considerate, he even asked for whatever caramel goop they kept on hand since they didn't make anything fancier than black coffee. He didn't bother to request pancake fixings – maple syrup was a given and little restaurant-sized packets of jelly sat in an open plastic container against the wood-panel wall at the end of the table. Surely they had strawberry hidden amongst the grape. Anyway, who had maple AND strawberry, presumably at the same time? Disgusting! Speaking of, if his brother wanted a salad for breakfast, he'd have to order it himself. 

His plain brew arrived along with a full tan-and-black thermal pot for refills. Bored, Dean bounced his leg under the table and drummed his fingers on the laminate surface. What was taking Sam so long? It wasn't like him to dawdle in the bathroom unless it was something involving his hair. 

* * *

Now that he finally had the opportunity to relieve himself, Sam was surprised – and annoyed! – that he couldn't let go. At least, he was alone so that nobody, especially not Dean, gave him funny looks as he stood there, dick in hand, waiting for the flood to gush forth. Instead, there were a few droplets, then a thin stream for a few seconds before it turned to droplets again. It was almost like peeing with a hard-on, but that wasn't the case. 

It took ages before he considered the remaining pressure bearable. He'd have to go again before they left, and Dean would give him crap, also about taking so long, but Sam could always claim that literal crap had been involved, and Dean wouldn't follow up on that.

After shaking off, he tucked himself away and washed his hands before returning to their booth. Either the service was very quick or he'd taken even longer than he'd thought, but two coffee mugs were already on the table and a middle-aged waitress was just setting a plate before his brother. Dean gave her a wide smile, but Sam didn't even bother rolling his eyes. So he was moody today and a sharp remark about MILFs lay on his tongue, but he bit it back. 

Sam joined Dean's smile at the waitress as he thanked her, then he reached for his coffee – and his smile widened: as unlikely as it was in such a place, Dean had really procured a caramel macchiato for him! He whispered a thank you to his brother, who only raised an eyebrow and pointed to his upper lip. Blushing, Sam wiped off the foam moustache, but his smile stayed on his face. The pancakes looked delicious and as he took the first forkful, he thought to himself that maybe the day wasn't so bad after all.

For a few minutes, he and Dean were silent while they attacked their food. Dean had already been hungry earlier, which meant that by now he must be truly ravenous. Again, Sam felt moved by the fact that Dean had foregone breakfast so as to not make Sam feel carsick. He rewarded his brother by smiling at him whenever chewing and swallowing allowed it.

Eventually, they'd emptied their plates and refilled their mugs. Sam's stomach was full and he didn't feel too hurried about leaving. So the place wasn't built to spend a lot of time there, but the space under the table was far more comfortable for his long legs than the foot well of the Impala.

"Tell me more about the hunt," Sam prompted. Dean had found something in the paper, middle-aged men waking up with their hair turned white overnight, but he hadn't shared more details – provided there were any – with Sam yet, and Sam considered sitting in the diner for a little longer a good opportunity to talk and plan.

* * *

Sam was gone a long time, so long their breakfast was arriving as he returned. Now he was all smiles... And a foamed-milk moustache that Dean had to point out as if Sam were five again. The disconcerting imagery of Sam wiping _cream_ off his mouth, his face, made Dean squirm in his seat and shovel food into his own face as an excuse not to have to pay attention to the man across from him. Had that been a prank? Sam was usually so careful about his appearance. He seemed really relaxed now, too. A restaurant restroom was hardly the ideal place to jerk off, but maybe he had. Again, Dean had to force himself to stop imagining those long fingers wrapped tightly and pulling... stroking... 

Getting nowhere fast, Dean poured himself more coffee. It was too hot so he blew across the surface twice and let it burn his esophagus on the way down. Then Sam asked him about the case, and Dean, relieved to be back on safe ground, gave him what few facts he knew. "Elko, Nevada. Two guys, not related, no connection I could make so far, each went to bed with brown hair and woke up with it white, within days of each other. If you believe psychobabble, severe PTSD can cause that. It's not common, but it happens more often in wartime, in battle, when things really go to hell. Or when people witness... what you'd consider an atrocity, like people being blown apart or horrible things done to children. As far as I know, there's no war going on in Elko. But I suspect there's some witch or demon or something evil there, up to no good. Not quite scaring people to death but scaring them enough to turn their hair white." 

* * *

Sam listened and nodded. Two unrelated incidents within days in the same town would have aroused his suspicion as well, but Dean was the one who scanned the newspapers with eagle eyes while Sam preferred to carry out his research online. Speaking about which... Dean had just poured himself another cup of scalding coffee, and Sam took that as a sign that his brother wasn't in a great hurry either.

"Maybe I can find out a bit more," he said as he opened his laptop computer. "It's been a few hours since the morning edition was printed. Also, I can try to access hospital records." He typed 'Elko' 'news' 'white hair' in his browser and waited. The network wasn't particularly fast, but at least the place had WiFi. Eventually, the first hits popped up on his screen, and Sam whistled.

Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam announced, "It looks as if there's a third victim. Wanna read with me?" He grinned and patted the plastic bench next to him. 

* * *

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam's offer. That was a little past his 'in public' limit. And what if his body reacted again to the proximity and Sam's constant warmth? Just no. "Really? We're not exactly in San Francisco here, Dorothy. Just turn the screen so we can both see it."

With the expected amount of huffing and eye-rolling, Sam did what Dean asked. "Hm, another middle-aged dude. I wish we knew if they have anything in common. None of them have died. Does it say if there's anything wrong with them besides the hair?" Sam was scrolling through links too fast for Dean to keep up. Thanks to the angle of the screen, the light from the cafe's front window was in his eyes so he had to squint to see anything at all. "Elko's not very big, maybe twenty thousand. Fairly high elevation, kind of like Denver. For all we know, it's a good old-fashioned curse. Did you see anything else suspicious online about it, Speedy McSpeed-Scroller?" 

* * *

Of course, Dean pulled a face at Sam's joking invitation to sit closer. Now they had to share the screen from opposite seats, which meant that neither of them could properly read. Shrugging, Sam turned the computer a little more toward himself again. If Dean wanted to keep his distance, he'd have to live with not being able to read the intel.

"Can't find anything out of the ordinary," Sam concluded after scanning through the official reports. The hospital web didn't seem to have an unprotected port for hacking into, so they'd have to conduct most of their research on site. "Just three ordinary guys who woke up with white hair and no clue why, and the usual theories. Something in the water, too much sex, aliens."

He shut the lid of the laptop and grinned. "Do you want to interview the nurses to gain access at patient files or the wives for credit card records and potential stuff in the houses?"

* * *

"Too much sex, that's rich. Did they really write that?" Not the thing one would normally find in a small-town newspaper. But maybe they had a liberal editor-in-chief. 

"You do the wives, I'll do the nurses," Dean quipped. Since Sam played sympathetic friend better and Dean wasn't above using his face and body to get what he needed access to, that worked out perfectly. "CDC?" he asked. "Time to break out agents Tyler and Perry. You ready?" Bolting the rest of his coffee, Dean reached for the check. 

* * *

"Well, no, that wasn't what the papers said, but I found some online comments. Must have been missed by the censors," Sam mused. He rolled his shoulders, beginning to feel cramped already by the prospect of spending the second half of the day in the car as well.

"CDC sounds good to me. Who knows, maybe it turns out – for once in our lifetime – to be something natural. Could be in the water, after all." He suddenly grinned. "Hey, wouldn't that be funny? I mean, Tyler and Perry are the toxic twins, if we're lucky, there's actually a poison or some contamination that turns people's hair white."

* * *

"Human-made ick might be easier to fight than the monster of the week," Dean replied, keeping his voice low. Them being strangers here, Sam's notable height and their collective faces got them enough stares the way it was without any of the local yokels overhearing stuff about monster hunting. Proportionately, they had put more spirits and ghosts to rest than actual blood-and-guts type killing, but those could do plenty of damage, too. 

Sam's remark about some of the online comments made him wonder exactly what messages people had left, out in cyberspace. If a person weeded though people's dirty insinuations and "oh how horrible" type uselessness, sometimes there'd be the proverbial kernel of truth in with the rest, and if anyone knew anything, they were bound to live around Elko. 

Mulling all that over, Dean paid the check and left some bills on the table for their waitress. She'd mentioned having a couple of kids in high school, so no doubt she needed it. They left, and were on the road again in short order. Dean pointed Baby west again. In the distance, the Rocky mountains rose into the sky. 

* * *

Dean didn't get it. Hello? Tyler and Perry? The toxic twins? Toxic substances possibly causing people's hair to turn white? Sam sighed. When Dean made to pay the check, Sam excused himself and went to the men's room again. Peeing still felt uncomfortable, but he managed to almost empty his bladder without taking too long and making Dean suspicious. 

That was, assuming that Dean wasn't already suspicious, which led Sam to wondering why his brother hadn't – yet – commented on Sam's frequent need for a toilet. He frowned when he remembered that for men, the most common issues to cause trouble urinating were prostate infections and STD's. As much as Dean loved winding Sam up, he wouldn't crack jokes if Sam had caught one of the latter. And a prostate infection, well, maybe that was scary even for a fearless older brother such as Dean, and it would, therefore not be mentioned.

So, Sam concluded as he left the diner and folded his body into the Impala's passenger seat, Dean would probably hit him with a few teasing remarks eventually, but refrain from pursuing the topic. For that, Sam would be grateful, but it left the niggling question in his mind what was wrong with him that made him need to piss all the time.

Dean didn't speak, and for a while, he and Sam rode in silence. Eventually, Sam asked, "Do you think we'll make it before nightfall?"

* * *

"Hm, what, Sam?" Dean jerked a little in his seat and glanced across at Sam. "Sorry, I've been on autopilot since breakfast." When he paid attention the panorama, he was surprised to find the mountains much closer. They'd be up in the foothills soon. "It'll depend on how fast traffic is moving through the mountains, and if Baby behaves. If all goes well, yeah, we'll be there tonight. You need a break again?" 

* * *

Throwing an equally annoyed and admiring look at his brother, Sam wondered how Dean could have guessed that he needed to go – again. "Actually, I wouldn't mind stretching my legs," he said. "And I'm sure another coffee won't hurt either of us."

Dean didn't look convinced, but Sam hadn't played his trump card yet. Grinning widely, he asked, "How about I buy you some m&m's?"

* * *

"Sure, and I'll get you some gummy worms." Dean well remembered Sam's childhood-and-beyond favorite. The kid could hog a huge bag of the things without any tummy trouble – as long as their dad wasn't around. Finding an AC/DC classic on the local station of where-ever they were nearing currently, he cranked the volume for the next chorus, verse, and chorus again.

Like he'd done in the morning, Dean noticed how Sam was shifting around, jiggling his legs. It couldn't be the music making his brother so restless. He threw a grin in Sam's direction. "You know you gotta pee, old lady. What's the deal? Maybe you should get your prostate checked. Coffee ain't gonna help that... situation." Then he quickly allowed, "But I couldn't live without caffeine, either, even if it meant hanging it out the window." They'd already agreed to stop in the next time or he'd have further razzed Sam by mimicking rolling down the window. Fact was, Dean had to go, too, but he hid it better, knowing if needed, he could wait at least a couple more hours. 

* * *

Sam sighed happily. "Deal. m&m's and gummy worms. You know, maybe we should make this a habit, start every new job with a round of m&m's and gummy worms."

Dean didn't reply because he was too busy fumbling with the radio, but Sam was sure that the smile on his brother's face was not only caused by getting lucky and finding a classic rock station. 

While Dean thankfully refrained from singing along, he was tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel, and Sam hoped that distracted him from noticing his own dilemma. Soon enough, however, the urge to pee became too strong to hide, and of course Dean commented on it, including suggesting that Sam should have his prostate checked. He was about to ask if Dean meant to stick his finger up Sam's ass, but before he could open his mouth, Dean conceded that he wouldn't mind a coffee himself, followed by _even if it meant hanging it out the window._

His eyes bulging, Sam broke out into giggles. "Dude, that is so... gross... but I'm not sure it's possible to drive and piss out of the car window at the same time. Not that I want you to try and prove it can be done, besides, you wouldn't do that to your Baby, but the mental image is now burned into my retinas forever."

He shook his head. "Better make sure to have a break before you risk having to resort to such desperate measures."

* * *

"Junk food and coffee, sounds like a plan." What, no grumping about the mild watersports references?? Wow, maybe Sam was kinkier than Dean gave him credit for, after all. Who knew? Dean filed that away for future pondering... or not. What reason did he have to wonder about Sam's sex life? He shrugged it off as morbid curiosity. "Baby's been through worse as you know, but I'd never do that to her... Unless she wanted me to." Dean gave an exaggerated wink. Once again, he tingled between his legs, but this he could blame on the need to piss. 

After several hours in tight quarters, Dean had become incrementally aware of Sam's scent all around him. Over the years, he'd smelled everything from cleaned up proper with expensive grooming products to reeking of sweat after a long run to stinking of monster guts and everything between on Sam. Today, Dean caught generic motel soap and shampoo, coffee and his unique Sam-musk. Something was a little off, though. Sam sweated a lot. They weren't total heathens – he wore antiperspirant but most of the pores on his body spritzed if he was stressed or too warm, and it had a certain aroma. Deep, somehow. Totally masculine, with salt and a tang. Right now, it was like Sam-lite. It unsettled him. 

"When we stop, ask around if you get a chance, see if anyone's heard of anything strange where we're headed. I'll do the same. People hear things, more than they'll tell the cops or newspaper sometimes." Sam knew the drill, Dean just needed something to keep his mind on something besides _how his brother smelled_ for a short time. "You wanna drive the next stretch?"

* * *

Dean agreed, to Sam's suggestion of 'food' and that he'd never insult his Baby, no surprise there. But Sam sensed that something was off. While Dean had to concentrate on the road and could only give Sam quick glances, Sam had no compunction about watching his brother closely. 

It took him a few minutes but then he asked himself how he could have missed the minor but repeated flaring of Dean's nostrils. Now, what was that about? Dean kept accusing him of farting after eating beans, but Dean always stank after eating garlic, and neither of them had indulged in that kind of food recently. They'd showered in the morning – for once, their motel had even had a decent hot water supply – so their BO shouldn't be too bad either. So what was going on?

Deep in thought, his mind suggested that Dean had just asked him a question, but Sam had completely missed it.

"Huh?"

* * *

"Repeat, do you wanna drive after the break?" Now that he'd asked, Dean wondered if he shouldn't have. Sam was a perfectly competent driver, that wasn't it. Baby wouldn't mind; Sam had been behind the wheel plenty of times, had learned to drive in the Impala, in fact. If Sam hadn't heard him, hadn't picked up on the offer through whatever little fog he was in, maybe he just wasn't that into it. Or, could be his bladder took all of his brain function at the moment. "Or if you don't wanna then forget about it." 

* * *

"N-nuh, of course I'd love to drive," Sam stammered while another wide smile spread on his face. Sam often drove the Impala, but it was rare that Dean offered 'her' to him like this. He was well aware of the secret, loving glances Dean often gave his ride, as if he was caressing her with his eyes. Thus not only allowing but offering Sam the wheel was in itself the utmost declaration of trust and love Dean could make.

He still didn't understand what was going on with Dean's nose, though. "Are you coming down with the flu?" he asked. If Dean was going to be sick, he wouldn't want to admit it, but Sam needed to know: any illness could compromise vital hunting skills. If, by the time they reached Elko, he was still feeling so weird himself, he'd let Dean know, too.

* * *

"Good, I'm happy you're so enthused. And dude, I'm fine," Dean insisted, staring determinedly at the highway in front of him. Where had Sam come up with the idea that something was wrong with him? Well, Sam had always tended to be the more perceptive – or at least, observant – of the two of them, and he wasn't watching the road. Oh yes, Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him, like fingers. If his midsection on down felt squirmy and his pulse points heated, it had nothing to do with the flu. He cut it to the chase: "You smell weird today. Not bad, just different. Like... like you're wearing someone else's pheromones. So you tell _me_ what's up." 

Damn, what the hell? What could Sam even say to that? Seriously. Whatever it was, Dean probably didn't want to hear. But it almost reminded him of... that one night... If it had been real at all. He'd convinced himself he'd dreamed or hallucinated it. Minus the distinct post-coital miasma of semen, sweat, and yes, pussy, it had smelled like him-on-Sam. Dammit. Boner. Dean surreptitiously tugged at his long flannel to make sure his groin was covered. 

* * *

Dean's reply made Sam's jaw drop. "You think that I... _smell weird?_ You know that sounds seriously creepy, right? Like, vampire or werewolf creepy, or anything else that comes with a heightened sense of smell. Please tell me you're not experiencing any, um, unexpected cravings to... bite me." If he'd almost said something else, Sam could always blame Dean's suggestion for confusing him.

What made Dean's remark even creepier was that Sam did feel weird, but he wasn't sure if telling Dean was a good idea. "Doesn't necessarily have to be me you smell, though," he tried to deflect the question. "What if it's something in the car? Maybe your latest conquest left her bra under the seat," Sam smirked.

* * *

"Ha ha, very funny," Dean shot back, choosing his words with care. "Been ages since I got busy in this car. If such an item were, say, wedged in the crack of the seat or abandoned in the footwell," he gestured toward the back seat, "we'd have been breathing in 'horny drunk chick' for weeks now." 

Funny how Sam should suggest a bra over panties as the potential culprit. The nice ones weren't cheap, therefore less likely to be left behind, and much less likely to have been soaked with anything... strong-smelling. Other than possibly alcohol. Maybe lingerie was another of his kinks. "If I happen to find anything pink and lacy, it's all yours, Sammy," Dean finished, grinning widely. 

* * *

Sam pointedly ignored the suggestion that he may enjoy women's underwear. "Well, we'd better check for leftovers before we reach Elko," he recommended dryly. "Just in case the hospital storage rooms are not available. I don't need to remind you what happened the last time there was a hot nurse, and, no, my razor is still a no go."

* * *

"Well that went away as soon as we broke it to the little antichrist that all the urban legends he'd been laboring under were just myths," Dean retorted. 

Sam didn't take the bait at all. Fine. He didn't really didn't want to know about Sam's kinks. Did he? No, Dean decided he did not. The bugger was probably happy with his virtually monastic existence. Sometimes it surprised him they were even related, Dean mused. Saying so out loud would only prompt a fresh round of sex versus love, looking for love before having sex, having sex as a way to screen for love... the two of them couldn't be any more dissimilar in that regard. The end result was the same, though: neither of them had a significant other. It was just as well, considering their lives. Then they'd have to constantly worry about the other person's – or people's – safety.

The exit sign flashed green in Dean's peripheral vision as they flew down the road. Ahead, the overpass loomed, as much as an 18' clearance could. "Here we go..." He announced, signaling and taking his foot off the gas pedal. Sam's twitching had increased the closer they got. With the speed limit posted at 25 MPH in city limits, Dean had fun going only 20. Still, only two minutes later, they pulled into the first filling station. "Go, Sammy, go!" Dean chortled as he braked, watching Sam jump out of the car and hightail it inside.

* * *

The last few minutes until they reached the exit preceding the gas station were spent in silence. It wasn't that Sam refused to communicate, but meanwhile he was afraid that Dean would make him snort or laugh or cause any type of physical reaction that would make Sam's bladder burst. Considering the bloated feeling and the pressure, he wondered if even a sharp look might be enough. He vowed to explain this to Dean later, but right now it wasn't an option as that particular confession would raise exactly the kind of comment Sam was trying to avoid. 

Dean took the exit and slowed down – _to twenty!_ What the fuck, was he actually going to stop right in the middle of the road? Did he want Sam to piss all over Baby's seat? And was the announcement 'Here we _go'_ as innocent as it sounded or a reminder that as long as Dean was in charge, Sam could _not_ go?

Eventually, Dean couldn't stall any longer. The Impala had hardly come to a standstill when Sam was already jumping out and running toward the side where the toilet must be, and thankfully was.

Dean's 'encouragement' was still ringing in his ears when Sam's need was so urgent that he almost didn't manage to unzip, but then he was free, and as the first splashes of urine hit the porcelain, the relief was so immense that he let out a loud groan. As he stood there, it felt as if at least a gallon of fluid was pouring from his body, and although his moans were softer now, he couldn't suppress the sounds completely.

It was at that point that he suddenly wondered if, in his hurry, he'd even locked the door behind him.

* * *

Seeing Sam more or less flee, the urgency of Dean's bladder twinged. He followed, if with a little more dignity. But that was sorely tested when he slipped inside the door of the men's room. For whatever reason, Sam had chosen a stall rather than a urinal. The noises emanating were pure porn, deep groans of desperation and release. And the flow – like someone had opened a tap full bore. It went on and on and still Sam pissed like a racehorse. After a while, Sam succeeded in dampening his sounds to some degree, but that just made the little choked-back "mmph's" and "nnng's" reminiscent of someone trying to be quiet during sex. 

It was too much. Dean's erection rose again with a vengeance, straining against his zipper. With having to pee at the same time, his groin felt extra-heavy with too much dammed-up fluid all wanting to escape. Dean broke out in sweat, leaking and so throbbing hard where he stood frozen, propping up the wall next to the door like a junior-high nerd at a school dance. First the pheromones, then the semi-dirty talk in the car along with Sam's continuous wiggling and squirming, and now the pornstar soundtrack to... "Niagara Falls!" Dean called out. 

By then, anyone could hear Sam was almost done, but Dean wasn't going to get busted just standing there like a chump. "And would you quit with all the moaning and groaning? I won't be able to go now without cleaning the pipes first." Even if Dean somehow got his dick to go down enough to pee by force of will, once he'd emptied his bladder the other riled-up needs would demand attention. Let Sam compute _that_. Dean had other worries, like how not to burst into that stall and bury his face in Sam's neck and just snort his scent like it was coke at a 70's key party.

* * *

It was only when he heard a familiar voice shout 'Niagara Falls', then tell him to shut up moaning that Sam realized he was no longer alone. Before he could recover from that shock, Dean provided the next one by announcing that, thanks to Sam's groans of relief for being able to pee, he now needed to come off.

Shell-shocked for a few seconds, Sam considered his options. The thought of passing by his brother on the way out of the restroom made him cringe almost as much as the prospect of staying and listening. Suddenly, he was very glad that he'd finished emptying his bladder: with the towering erection he now had, there was no chance he could void.

Running out of time to think, Sam made up his mind. He forced a bored expression on his face and left the stall, holding the door open to Dean. "Here. You might wanna get in there to take care of, you know," he smirked. "And you'd better hope that boy Jesse isn't anywhere near – we don't know where he went, after all."

Without sparing another look at Dean, Sam returned to the Impala, where he sat on the driver's seat, dangling his feet out sideways. So he'd fled from the temptation, but it didn't help with the mental porn. In his mind, Sam was too well aware of the sounds, the scent, and the shaky motions when Dean got close. They didn't talk about the... incident... but the memories were definitely there.

Keeping his hands folded in his lap in case anybody should venture close enough to see the bulge behind his fly, Sam waited for Dean to finish in the men's room. As soon as Dean started gassing up the Impala, Sam would take another visit to the toilet.

* * *

Dean blinked at how entirely blase Sam was about his statements. The toilet flushed, then Sam walked out and pushed Dean into the stall, admonishing him to take care of business. Again he brought up Jesse and Dean's hairy palm. "That kid could be in in Calcutta for all I know. A change of texture might be nice. Anything besides my own right hand," Dean grumbled. "Get out!" 

But Sam had already retreated, the door banging shut behind him. With a sigh, Dean unzipped and let the snake out of its cage. He might as well get it over quickly; they needed to get back on the road. Maybe he wasn't fourteen anymore, but at that age he'd already perfected the technique. The grip, the speed, the involuntary few jerks of his hips when he got close. He tried to think about the woman from a few weekends ago. It wasn't going to work. Instead, he saw a strangely altered Sam under him, long legs wrapped around Dean's waist, boobs bouncing as Dean fucked the hell out of him – or her? – practically crying in pleasure so intense... then Dean had a handful of sticky warmth. He shook through a few last spurts, smothering his groan of release. Moments later, he managed to piss though his softening dick, hissing at the sting. 

His moose of a brother, a woman. Maybe they should investigate that further. At least he'd remembered to use a condom. Dean shook his head and washed his hands. Though it truly had been less then five minutes, Sam would probably bitch at him for taking too long. He'd had to deal with his brother right after getting off so many times it was old hat. Out of the shower and into the frying pan, usually. His joints felt a little loose as Dean strolled back outside and around the building, admiring Baby's sleek black lines as she came into view. His brother was slouched in the driver's seat, door open with his feet hanging out. Sam refused to even acknowledge him. He hadn't pumped gas, so Dean unscrewed the gas cap and got it going. Next time he looked up, Sam was gone again. 

* * *

When Dean returned, he completely ignored Sam – or so Sam thought because he'd avoided meeting his brother's eyes. As soon as Dean was focusing on the Impala, Sam fled to the rest room once again, this time making sure to lock himself in the stall before pulling his dick out.

There was already a dime-sized spot on his underwear but Sam found to his relief that he hadn't leaked through his jeans. Yet. He pushed down his pants and started stroking himself languidly. He tried to shove the thought of Dean firmly to the back of his head, but it didn't work: Dean's earlier announcement had kindled the need, and the memory of Dean's moans and grunts fueled Sam's fire. 

As he thrust into his fist faster and faster, Sam had to bite his lip to stifle his groans, but that didn't help with the sound of his hand on his flesh, a slapping kind of noise that was soon accompanied by squelches when his pre-cum began to flow. The amount of it surprised him, Sam had always leaked a lot, but this was excessive, even for him. He was almost as wet as when...

The sudden flashback to _that_ motel room, where he was lying on his back with his legs wrapped around Dean and moaning like a whore, begging his brother to fuck harder and deeper into his vagina, brought him to the edge. He could almost feel Dean's dick again, buried to the hilt, stimulating places Sam had never had before and didn't have now, but the want, the need for this sensation deep in his belly spiked when his peak hit and he cried out. 

White splattered on the floor below him as the pleasure took over his whole body and made him quake and spasm. It was over soon – too soon – and Sam wiped himself – and the impressive puddle on the floor – clean and tucked himself away. Knowing that Dean would be more than annoyed with him for making him wait again, Sam quickly rinsed his hands, promising himself a thorough shower later, and returned to the car. 

Dean was leaning against the Impala with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Um, so, do you still want me to drive?" Sam asked, training his eyes on the ground, annoyed with himself. What was his problem? Dean had announced that he was going to squeeze one off, and Sam had done the same. So why was he embarrassed while Dean looked perfectly at ease? 

And why were his nipples – again! – tightening up at the sight of his brother, so much that they hurt.

* * *

A few minutes later, that was one mystery solved. So. Sam had had to tend to his own... personal needs. Dean could practically smell guilt and sheepishness rolling off his brother. Just look at him, blushing like a virgin, nipples still so fiercely erect they poked up through two or three layers of shirts. Not bothering to repress a smirk, Dean raised an eyebrow but let it go at that. The combination of Sam's attempt at casual and knowing what he'd just done had Dean twitching in his jeans yet again. This was so not right. Dammit, he really needed to get well and thoroughly laid. Like, three or four times in one night, freaky positions, toys, maybe twins, cumming dry the last time, laid. Soon, he promised himself. As soon as this case was history. 

"Yeah. Drive. I said so, didn't I?" Dean replied shortly and tossed the keys on their silver bullet chain. He got into the passenger seat, flashback of years and years of that being his post while Dad drove washing over him. "I had another thought about this hair-gone-white business. Beyond finding out these guys are best buddies hiding a secret or that they're all members of the Elko Sasquatch Watchers club," he leaned over to elbow his brother, "what if it's something that's not a monster? Like, I dunno, natural phenomena? They have hot springs and the like up that way, right? Maybe they, each individually rather, wandered too close to... not sure what... And say, accidentally inhaled sulfur gas or something? On the other hand – sulfur, demons... I suppose we're no closer till we talk to them or someone gives an interview, but it's a thought." 

* * *

"The Elko Sasquatch Watchers club?" Sam asked as he slid behind the wheel and started the Impala, relieved that Dean ignored his second trip to the restrooms. "You mean I may not be the only one?" He grinned.

"Okay, natural phenomena. I'll check online later, but I don't think it's sulfur, at least not the un-demonic type. There are too many hot springs containing sulfur all over the world – think Iceland – that people would be aware if it turned their hair white. A hot spring sounds like the ideal demon hide-out, to me, though, where no one would be concerned about the stench."

Sam's grin widened. "Besides, hot springs can be very romantic. Perfect place to take a nurse and and see what's hotter, she or the water," he suggested meaningfully.

* * *

"Oh, funny," Dean pulled a face. "Never been to Iceland or even Yellowstone Park – I was thinking more like something, a new vent or spring, spouted out of the ground unexpectedly or the vics got too close, or both. But never mind. I suppose if it had the effect of stripping hair color, we'd have heard of it before."

Despite the annoyance of Sam and his huge brain and his smart mouth always having the answers, or at least the knowledge to prove Dean wrong every time he opened his mouth to propose something, he was being careful with the Impala. Dean could put up with a lot if Sam treated his Baby right. 

"Not sure how romantic that sort of hot spring is, between the sulfur stench, and isn't the water boiling temperature in some of those outlets? No one's very hot – other than in a bad way – with their skin cooked off." Wincing at the thought, Dean decided there would be no such adventures for him during the off hours. 

"If there were real sasquatches, like the Bigfoot, Yeti kind, don't you think we'd have proof by now? Hypothetical question," Dean added quickly. "I don't know what could scare someone that bad. Maybe something we've never seen. There's some nasty characters fermenting in Hell. They usually disguise themselves topside, though. Hellhounds..." Shuddering, Dean figured one word was enough said on that subject. "Chupacabras are ugly enough, but we're out of their usual territory." 

* * *

Sam laughed. "Nobody suggested bathing in a spring where the water is boiling or close to it. But trust me, there are some where the water is body temperature. That feels hot, but it's incredible. Relaxing and all, and... um," he coughed, "Jess took me on a hike once that included a hot spring..."

Jess, Sam reminded himself, he'd been there with Jess. His girlfriend, who'd died because of him. So why was the mental image that came with the memory one where he and Dean were frolicking around in a warm pool?

"Let's check out the hot springs," Sam decided to change the topic from his former love life to the case – and cringed when he became aware that what he'd just suggested could also imply doing exactly what he'd meant to distract himself from, "but make sure to keep an open mind regarding other causes," he finished lamely.

* * *

The mention of Sam's dead girlfriend never ceased to make Dean go cold inside. Today was no different. On some level, he knew the whole gutted-and-burned-on-the-ceiling thing had been Yellow-Eyes' M.O. for the women connected to 'his' children, and it was bound to happen with or without him in the picture. Never-the-less, he'd been the one who'd showed up in Palo Alto unannounced, who dragged Sam back into hunting, and who precipitously caused Jessica's demise. Had they – he and Dad – done their job and killed the demon earlier, she'd still be alive. 

If he was honest with himself, Dean had to recall the whole story. Dad had been off on his own for months, plotting his final revenge, not even letting Dean know if he was alive for weeks at a time. It would be easy to blame their dad, for being so obsessed for so long, for not being a good enough hunter in spite of his legendary – Dean scoffed – status. 

He wished Sam wouldn't bring her up. Like, ever. Jess struck him wrong. Yeah sure, she was hot, but there was something about her that bothered him. Under the sweet, blond, Amazonian, Smurf shirt and boy shorts wearing package, she thought Dean was scum. So how could she in truth not think the same of Sam? And Sam had been so fucking enamoured, almost slavish. He hid it under his excuse of having an interview, and Dean couldn't deny the truth of that either, but why did Sam need law school and that type of big-shot lifestyle? For _her_. She'd teach him how to move in elite social circles complete with alpine skiing and wine-tasting and yachting and god knew what else the rich did, and she'd have his brother's babies and his dick at her beck and call and especially the cashflow, because damned if Sam wouldn't do everything in his power and more to please her.

Suddenly Dean became aware he was taking way too long to respond. He felt a sting of shame at his unkind thoughts. Sam had lost the girl of his dreams, to say nothing of her family's loss. "Um, yeah, okay. As long as they're not too hot," he hedged, hoping his reply made sense. 

* * *

Dean looked uncomfortable, like always when the topic of Jess came up. Sam rarely mentioned her because he knew that his brother felt responsible for her death, and he'd tried to convince Dean many times that it was his, Sam's, fault, but Dean never listened to him. 

"After we solve the case," Sam promised, "I'll find you a spring with the right temperature. As for now, while we're still on the road, maybe you could check Dad's diary for anything related to white hair. Unless you want me to do it. I, um, will need another break eventually, and then you could drive again."

* * *

"I'll check," Dean replied quickly, relieved to have something to do besides sit and stew. "If I don't find anything, you can double-check later, when we next switch off driving."

He half-turned around in the seat, conscious of Sam's personal space, which he stayed out of. He found Dad's journal where it was always stashed when they weren't using it for research, in the outer pocket of his duffel. Turning to face the front again, Dean bent his head over the neat hand-written text, maps, formulas and diagrams that filled almost every page. It kind of amazed him how his dad's notes weren't an ungodly scrawl, but it was another mark of his obsession, he supposed. It was too bad John had never known the Campbells were hunters – he could have tapped into their resources. That would've helped with some things, at least, run-of-the mill cases like possessions and hauntings. Their dad had had to learn it all from scratch. In that, as recipients of all John's collected lore, he and Sam were way, way ahead of the game. 

After almost an hour, Dean had found nothing. He rubbed his eyes and laid the journal on the seat between himself and his brother. "Nada. Other than if it's a curse, and we should look into that."

* * *

"A curse makes sense," Sam agreed. "Since we meant to check on the victims' backgrounds anyway, let's hope we find some commonalities."

Dean rubbed his eyes as he put the diary aside and Sam noticed that it was later than he'd thought. They'd been on the road for a long time and twilight was setting in. Also, he was beginning to receive urgent signals from his lower body that a pee break would be _very_ welcome.

"Dean, could you check on the map how far we still have to go? I'm afraid I'm going to need another break soon."

* * *

The time must've got away from him. When he paid attention to the world outside the Impala, Dean noticed it was much later than he'd thought. Either he'd had his nose buried in Dad's journal the entire time, or maybe he'd even dozed off. Slightly disoriented, Dean opened the glove compartment to dig for the the map he'd folded and placed on top of the pile. "What's the last town we passed, Sam? Or the last exit number?" 

Waiting for the answer, he found Elko on the creased paper, and then he traced the line of the highway back to the town where they'd stopped for breakfast. A glance at the gas gauge told him Baby was close to sucking fumes. Whatever the next town was, it had better be within ten miles and have at least one open gas station or they'd have to resort to walking or siphoning. 

"Gotta go again, huh?" Dean idly asked. He repressed a snort. Well, it _had_ been several hours since their last pit stop, as best he could estimate. "Man, I guess the days you could hold it for eight hundred miles are over." 

* * *

"Yep, I need a restroom and your Baby needs fuel," Sam repeated. Just then, a sign flew by announcing that Elko was still 89 miles away and a service station was about to come up. "Just a quick stop and then we can find a room and food in Elko?" He glanced at Dean for confirmation and set the indicator. 

As soon as he pulled the Impala up next to the pumps, he grimaced. "Um, do you mind if I go first?" Sam was already out of the car before he heard Dean's reply. He was unable to make out what exactly his brother had said, but maybe that was just as well.

Again, it felt as if gallons of fluid had accumulated, but remembering Dean's comments from earlier, Sam made sure to keep quiet this time. Still, the relief was incredible, and he was grateful that they had only an hour or two to drive until they could settle down – regardless of how shoddy their motel would be, they'd have their own bathroom.

When he returned, Dean had gassed Baby up and taken the driver's seat – of course, Dean didn't have to go, Sam thought a little bitterly. He approached the car and offered, "I need something to drink. Want me to get a coke for you, too, or did you buy some? And am I assuming right that you've already interviewed the guy at the counter?" 

* * *

As Sam hurried to the restroom, Dean got out of the car and stretched. His back popped a few times and he grimaced, but it actually felt good. Then he filled the tank and went inside to pay. Unlike many of the national or regional chains, this place was old-school; it smelled like oil and rubber and metal, with a cooler of sodas, some candy and a few snacks like chips and beef jerky for sale, but not much else. There was an attached repair shop with two bays, but it was already closed for the evening. Or wait, it was Sunday. Small towns, Dean thought to himself, shaking his head. The gas station part had a sign declaring itself open 24/7, which Dean decided was lucky for him they'd just crossed out of Utah into Nevada, as well as for any other travelers this far out in the middle of nowhere on the I-80. The one attendant inside, a young guy with greasy hair whose name tag read Alvin, said he hadn't heard of 'any strange doings up Elko way', so Dean left it at that. 

He reported the same when Sam asked. A minute later, he declined anything to drink and they were on the road again. Only 89 miles – an hour or a little more, and then they could get a room. He was hungry, too, but that would keep. "Can't wait to relax, that was a long drive. Then we hit it hard tomorrow."

* * *

From the way Dean made his Baby almost growl rather than purr, Sam concluded that his brother was tired, too. The scenery flew by quickly in the dusk, and by the time they entered the outskirts of Elko, night was setting in. Dean pulled up in front of the 'Blue Lagoon' motel because there was a diner on the other side of the road. Sam's stomach took the hint and made itself known.

They got their room and Sam announced that he'd put down salt lines while Dean carried their stuff inside. Ten minutes later, they studied the menu at the greasy spoon. Sam had to admit that it could be worse.

"At least they serve normal food here," he said. "I feared we'd be stuck with seafood after seeing our room – and who the hell designs aquarium-style motel rooms and calls a motel the Blue Lagoon in the middle of bumfuck Nevada! Anyway, bacon cheeseburger for you, chicken Caesar for me, and two beers?"

* * *

They finally made it to town. Dean had had to squint into the sun's orange fireball as it slowly set in the west; now it was dusk. After dropping their stuff in the hideous-decor-of-the week motel room, he and Sam ambled across the road where a suitable diner awaited them. "Sounds fine," Dean responded to his brother's suggestion of what they should order. "Fries for me. I'd have said a chocolate shake but beer sounds better and I gotta save room for pie." One good thing about diners besides being comparatively cheap: they could be counted on to have good pie. 

Soon their waitress arrived – blond and bouncy but too underaged for him to flirt with and not feel like a dirty old man. They ordered and waited. She brought the beer, and Dean looked up as the glass bottles thunked down on the wooden table. Hm, then again, if she served it, she had to be at least eighteen. Close enough. Maybe he'd have to rethink hitting on her. As she walked away, Dean craned his head around to get a better look at her ass. Perfect size 1 with glitter on the back pockets. By the way she swung her hips, she knew what to do with that tight little body. Yahtzee. 

Dean could sense Sam's ominous brood across the table. Maybe he could've checked out the waitress's butt without twisting his neck, but dammit, he was horny again. Tonight, the shower, he promised himself. If not something better. 

* * *

Sam made a mental note to wake Dean with a chocolate shake in addition to his coffee the next morning. Since Dean hated getting up early, Sam was usually the one to provide the first coffee of the day. Having a diner nearby would save them from the battery acid that served as coffee in most motels and maybe, just maybe, Dean would start the day with a smile.

The happy thought made him – almost – miss the look Dean gave their waitress. On any other day, Sam would have snarked about his brother's ever-present habit of chasing tail, but tonight he was so tired that all he managed was a disapproving frown. On the other hand, casual sex was the only kind of sex either of them would ever get as long as they fulfilled their responsibility as hunters. Regular girlfriends and, god forbid, building a family, were not an option. 

Sam sighed, unnoticed, he hoped, by Dean who was too busy concentrating on the girl's butt. He should really come to accept that while he'd consciously chosen his right hand as long-term sex partner, Dean shouldn't be deprived of living out his desires. Sex made Dean happy and Sam had never nor would he ever hear a girl complain: he knew from first hand experience how skilled a lover his brother was. 

Of course, Dean returned his attention to him in this very moment, just when Sam was blushing from the memory of the two of them together _that_ night. At the same time, he wondered if he was also paling because all of his blood was suddenly fighting for a space in his dick. However, trying to catch his breath and at least pretend to be unflustered made him cough – could it get any worse? 

According to the look on Dean's face, it could. Sam had no clue what his brother was about to say, but he could virtually see the cogs in Dean's head spinning in search of a good response.

"Fucking desert air," Sam lied as he reached for his bottle and thankfully managed to swallow and soothe the tickling in his throat instead of spluttering beer all over the table. 

"So you were saying, pie for dessert?" Sam asked casually once he had himself under control again, but it was immediately ruined by the mental image of Dean licking cream off a spoon. What the fuck was wrong with him?

* * *

"Huh? Yeah, pie." Rather than get in his face about ogling the goodies which what Dean expected along with maybe some bullshit about sexual harassment, Sam turned several interesting shades of red, white and pink. Dean sat back in his seat to watch the show. The excuse Sam came up with bordered on lame: coughing, he muttered something about desert air and took a healthy swig of his beer. Dean observed the bobbing of his Adam's apple, and how the exposed, soft skin of his throat had collected a light sheen of sweat. Okay, maybe he shouldn't watch so closely. Now Dean had to casually sneak a hand under the table to adjust the angle of his thickening cock.

"What's with you, Sam? You're acting like you just saw a ghost." 

* * *

"A ghost, yeah," Sam echoed without thinking. His brain caught up with his mouth a fraction of a second too late and he flushed again. "Um, I mean..." His eyes widened at Dean's hand under the table; although he couldn't see what his brother was doing, Sam's mind came up only with lewd – and incredibly hot – suggestions.

There was only one way out of this, one sure way to end the conversation as well as the evening.

"I, um, was thinking of that night we, er... you know, three months ago, and... well, yeah... and it... kinda... made me... Fuck, Dean, do you really want me to spell it out loud for everyone to hear?"

* * *

Keeping his voice as flat as possible, Dean attempted to put the kabosh on that line before certain parts of himself decided to speak up. "No. No, I don't. There's nothing to spell out and nothing to discuss, much less loudly. Although, Sammy, I must say, I never took you for the noisy type. You're always such a nice young man..." Dean enunciated the last phrase like he'd heard multiple elderly ladies do when they tried to compliment Sam's admittedly gentler... bedside manner with witnesses. 

Now he couldn't get up. So Dean sat on his side of the booth and smirked at Sam, taking his sudden case of jitters. Wordlessly, he dared Sam to bring it up again and get told they weren't going to do the caring-and-sharing thing. Dean could see no reason why should they ever – like _ever_ – talk about that confusing, erotic, gender-swapping, cherry-popping, weirdly tender (and had he said confusing?) night again.

Unless Sam turned into a girl again. Oh shit. 

* * *

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again and narrowed his eyes. He _knew_ that Dean was flustered even though the bastard – Sam apologized to his mother – sat there, seemingly unconcerned, smirking at him.

As slowly and calmly as he could with his shaking hands, Sam put his beer on the table. "I need another piss," he announced, then made sure his shirt covered his crotch, and walked stiffly to the restrooms.

Of course, there was no way he could pee, not with the raging monster in his pants. His whole lower body was throbbing with desire, in particular the place behind his balls where his... pussy... had been... The thought made him aware of an emptiness deep inside... his body... And as if the just now occurring wish to be a woman again wasn't bad enough, Sam's need wasn't restricted to his dick, balls, and taint, no, even his asshole was pulsing. 

He felt dizzy for a moment and steadied himself on the sink. A quick glance in the mirror told him that his face didn't look any different, and he didn't have tits, but... Like already earlier in the day, Sam noticed that his nipples had pulled so tight that they were visible as sharp peaks through two layers of shirts. Also, they were kind of tingling and felt highly sensitized. He drew up his tee shirt and gasped at the sight: his nipples had always been rosier and slightly larger than the pale pink midget bites Dean was adorned with, but now his buds were swollen and brownish. Touching one made him gasp again, but this time with pleasure rather than shock. Sam tweaked the nub and couldn't help moaning when the sting sent a wave of bliss downward that made his cock leak...

Alright then, he needed to get off, _now,_ but not here. Ten minutes in the motel room would have to do, and keeping Dean out shouldn't be a problem. Either his brother would score with the waitress or Sam would scare him into staying out by announcing his intent. The latter was embarrassing and would leave himself open for infinite mockery later, but Sam was too horny to care.

He pushed his chin out as he returned to their table, passing the waitress on his way and checking her nametag. "Okay," Sam addressed his brother and hissed at him before Dean could say anything, "I need you to spend some time with Sandy in the Impala or," _or go for a walk and stay out of our room,_ "or come with me back to the hotel and fuck me."

Wait... what...?

* * *

Dean's eyes widened, and he glanced around the diner, still half-full of people finishing dinner. That hadn't been a surprised "Well, fuck _me!_ " Oh, no, that had been the clear invitation, no, demand of one very tall and powerfully-built man, who was currently looming with his heaving chest and flared nostrils over Dean, to have gay sex with him in the next ten minutes. Surely the old couples along the far wall and two tables of families with what seemed like ten kids apiece wouldn't appreciate that. Right then, Dean remembered how close they still were to Salt Lake City and doubly cringed. What if Sam's suddenly unfiltered mouth got them arrested? 

Dean would make sure the local LEOs never caught them, but that was beside the point. 

"Shut up!" he hissed. "What the hell's got into you?" Looking up Sam's restless torso for about the fifth time, when he wasn't measuring the distance to the door or calculating how likely one of those respectable dads was to bitch them out, Dean noticed that Sam's nipples were again on full alert. And while he'd escaped claiming he needed to pee – again – and his shirts were pulled far down, Sam couldn't entirely conceal the bulge he was packing. Not when it was that close to Dean's face. Where was that waitress – Sandy? – anyway? They needed to pay the check and get the hell out of there.

"Sit the fuck down before you gouge my eye out!" Dean ran through possible causes of his normally uptight brother's unexplainable and caveman-like behavior. Curse, possession, or hypnosis seemed the most likely. It had to be powerful, because he too had been overly horny all day in Sam's presence. He had to get Sam out of here, and himself as well. By now, if _things_ grew to be any more of a problem, the table was going to start levitating, not exactly supernaturally. What if Sam was so... needy... he actually tried something in public? If Dean were a female it wouldn't be quite as big a deal. Sam had not turned back into a woman in the last five minutes – his boy parts were present and accounted for. Maybe he should get his brother laid with his own intended mark for the night. It would take the edge off, at least. "How about I set you up with our waitress, Sam? I'm pretty sure she's legal."

* * *

Dean stared at him for what felt like hours, then told him to shut up and asked what had got into him. Maybe that was the right question, Sam thought. His brain was sluggish, but was it possible that somebody had put a spell on him?

Before he could speak, Dean ordered him to sit down, which Sam did. When Dean suggested to get him laid with the waitress, however, Sam shook his head vigorously. "No," he hissed, "I don't want her. I want..." He swallowed. "Well, I need to get off, but not with her. What I meant was that maybe you could take five with her while I... go have the room for myself."

There, he'd managed to say it without making an utter fool out of himself again by asking Dean to have sex with him. "Dean, I... dunno what's going on with me. Maybe someone hexed me... Or us... Do you feel anything like... oversexed? Except that you're always horny, I guess, but is this really just happening to me?"

Sam paused for a second and bit his lower lip, then whispered, "And sorry, but I think I should really get outta here."

* * *

"Did you really just say that?" Dean rolled his eyes. He gritted out from between clenched teeth, "Oversexed. That's rich. You're finally getting hit with what a normal male sex drive is like and you can't handle it." Deciding Sam shouldn't be left to his own devices mainly because he seemed to be on the verge of totally freaking out, Dean fished for his wallet and tossed enough cash on the table to cover the dinner and a decent tip. Now, he lamented, he wasn't even going to get his pie. The sacrifices he made...

The next problem was getting the two of them out the door and across the road to their room without violating any indecency laws. Dean slid out of the booth and tugged Sam out and to his feet. "Stay right behind me," he ordered, not sure he liked that connotation much but it couldn't be helped. If he and Sam ever... he, Dean would be the one doing the driving... A little pearl of pre-cum oozed from his slit; Dean felt it along with the preceding tingle of its release from his balls or somewhere deeper in his body. Aw, man. A hex, that had to be it. He would tear their room apart looking for a hex bag. If it was inside Baby somewhere...

"Okay. Walk." He'd just have to trust Sam to do what he was supposed to do. Dean proceeded to the door, motioning to their surprised waitress he'd left money on the table. Outside, the air had cooled considerably post-sunset. Maybe that would help Sam. Or not. A sideways glance told Dean his brother was still sweaty and jittery – and hard. It was such a reversal for Sam to be the one all lust-ridden and talking frankly about his sexuality. Kind of ironic it was in a diner in a town named Elko, but then when weren't they in some out-of-the way place? 

The light traffic allowed them to cross the road without having to do more than pause, and Dean got their door unlocked after two tries. God knew why, now his hands were trembling. He pushed Sam into the room. "Hurry up. I'm next. And clean up your mess." He'd be able to smell it when Sam spilled; he'd known that scent for years. But that didn't mean he wanted any visible evidence. Hopefully releasing the poisons wouldn't take long or Dean might end up humping his car. 

* * *

"You call _that_ a normal sex drive?" Sam couldn't keep the panic out of his voice. "Is that what you face every day?" If it was, Sam would never again deride his brother for womanizing.

Dean didn't answer but took Sam's arm and guided him from the diner after leaving money for the bill at their table. Although they only had to cross the road to reach the motel, the walk appeared endless, probably because Sam wasn't used to walking with such a massive hard-on. Actually, he wasn't even sure if he'd ever been this hard before – and the closer he walked behind Dean, the more aroused he got.

Sam was relieved when Dean pushed him into their room and told him to hurry up. The announcement that Dean would be 'next' tore a moan from his throat, but thankfully the door was already closed. Three seconds later, Sam was stripping off his clothes in world record time and stepped into the shower. Dean had ordered him to clean up after himself. It was bad enough that Dean knew what was happening in this moment, but Sam wouldn't make it worse by leaving evidence behind.

His right hand wrapped around his dick, Sam rolled his balls with the left one, but as soon as he started stroking, he let go of his balls to pinch and pull at his nipples. They were still swollen and oversensitive, and he was surprised how much it turned him on to rub and squeeze them. The sensation brought the memory of Dean playing with them _that night_ when he was licking and sucking them before going down on him and then... 

The thought of Dean penetrating him, pushing through the barrier deep into Sam's body made him cry out as his head fell back against the shower tiles and white hot magma erupted from his balls. His asshole clenched in rhythm with the first four strong, then weaker bursts, each one accompanied by another moan as the pleasure zinged through his body.

When it was over, Sam didn't linger but washed quickly. He slipped into his jeans and shirt, leaving his boxer-briefs off after recognizing how wet they were in front. He had clean ones in his duffel, but if Dean was anywhere as needy as Sam had been, he'd appreciate that Sam hurried to vacate the room.

"Dean," Sam hissed when he opened the door, hoping that his brother was near enough to hear him and at the same time dreading that Dean may have stuck close enough to listen while Sam was in the shower. "Um, I guess it's your turn now..."

* * *

Just his luck. He hadn't looked closely before, but now the room's floor plan came back to Dean: the bathroom was near the room door and the beds were farther in. In these old roadside motels it was usually the opposite. That meant that the tiny frosted-glass window over the shower stall was directly over Dean's head where he'd propped himself against the wall. Soon the shower was running – he could just make out muted splashes. And then, oh, god, how was a dude supposed to deal, Sam's also muted but clearly discernible frantic moans. Jeans much too tight now bordering on pain and his underwear steadily dampening with pre-cum and sweat, Dean stayed frozen in place. He should at least move out of earshot, but he couldn't. On the other side of the wall, the moaning grew louder, deeper. Sam had his dick in his hand but what else was he doing – rolling his nuts? Fingering his hole? Tweaking his nipples, those too-prominent points that had distracted Dean off and on all day? They had to taste so good, all sweet and salty... The moans stopped short, then there was one last, even deeper and more primal groan, the meaning of the abrupt end more than obvious. Dean was so fucking worked up he had to squeeze his balls hard to keep himself in check. 

Soon after, the doorknob turned and Sam appeared still wet from the shower but clothed. Somehow they managed to change places without brushing up against each other. Impulse control nearly getting the better of him again, Dean closed the door in Sam's face before he started grinding on him or something equally embarrassing. Now that Sam had taken care of his 'problem' but Dean was still diamond-hard, that would have been doubly wrong. 

Dropping his clothes as he went, Dean turned the shower back on in the steamy bathroom. There was still hot water. It felt good on his even hotter skin. Once he had wet his entire body down, Dean turned his back to the showerhead to let the spray beat against his shoulders and the sore spot at the back of his neck. His erection bobbed almost upright, the first touch of his hand bringing a hiss. Dean wrapped the aching flesh in his fist and pulled with even strokes, all the way up and down the length with a little circular flick of his thumb around the slit each time, smearing his natural juice all over the screaming nerve endings of the head. He needed this. Needed to unload all the built-up cream his tease of a brother... No, it wasn't deliberate, maybe Sam was experiencing a form of being in season... No wonder Dean couldn't stay away, couldn't stop thinking about sex so much. 

It didn't take him long either. Maybe half a minute and he was already close, whining with need. Dean thrust into his own hand and let it come, first the tenseness and spasms of his butt and thigh muscles, the white-hot bursting feeling of release in the inner coiled cords of his balls followed by ejaculation in thick, messy spurts of seed through his dick. Again and again it repeated: spasm, spurt, relief. All through it, he kept rubbing across the coronal ridge, needing to wring every last sensation. 

So much for keeping it down. After Sam's outburst, Dean had promised himself that he'd get off silently, but he couldn't stay quiet once he started to jizz. If Sam were smart he wouldn't listen, but who could tell, considering Sam would be all 'duh' in that post-orgasmic haze, himself. 

Thoroughly sated – till next time – Dean stood under the water another couple minutes. Sure, orgasms were good for relaxation but hot showers were right up there, too. Deciding he'd dallied long enough, Dean found soap, washed himself and the tiled back wall where his load dripped. Unlike his brother, he didn't bother to dress after he dried off. Neither of them was going out tonight. The sex part was taken care of and their financial state was okay for the moment so there was no need to hustle. No, with Sam acting all weird, they were staying put. Dean wrapped the towel – dingy white and not all that large – around his waist and went to let Sam in. 

* * *

When Dean opened the door, he didn't look at Sam. Likewise, Sam didn't look at Dean – quite the opposite: after a quick glance revealed that Dean wasn't even dressed, Sam forced himself to look anywhere but at his brother. The absence of thick sex pheromones told him that Dean had, just like Sam before, taken care of things in the shower, which Sam appreciated. Walking into the warm tang of Dean's semen would probably have started the cycle anew; at least that was what he thought, somehow Sam's sudden overwhelming sexual desires were set off by his brother's proximity.

"So," Sam said and cleared his throat. "I think I'mma call it a day if that's okay with you. Do research tomorrow and catch some sleep. Um," he hesitated. "Since I seem to have this peeing thing going on... would it be okay if I took the bed closer to the bathroom?"

It was also the bed closer to the door, which was by unspoken law Dean's, but Sam vividly remembered the last time he'd bumped into Dean's bed on his way through the darkness to the bathroom – well, no, it hadn't exactly been the last time, but that night was forever etched into his mind, when his attempt to empty his bladder had led to the discovery of female parts...

He coughed and waited for Dean to answer.

* * *

Sam sleep closer to the door? It was unspoken, but it had always been Dean's place to protect his little brother from the unknowns and evils of the world. He had to think. Sure, the request was innocent enough: so that Sam wouldn't disturb him with multiple trips to the bathroom. "Well... Okay," Dean agreed at length, mostly to avoid looking like an immature, obsessive idiot if he declared the bed Sam wanted was 'his'. "What's with your peeing thing, anyway? Need to go to the clinic?"

Not looking at Sam, Dean moved his duffel to the far bed and dug out his sleep pants. Even he could smell his own musk on the fabric. They'd better do laundry soon. Slipping into them under the towel, which he tossed in the corner, Dean crossed the room again and renewed the salt lines along the door and front window. Not sure how much protection it would serve, he also went onto the bathroom and poured salt along the little window above the shower. Then he went back again and crawled under the covers. It still felt strange, wrong. "Are you sure you want that bed?" he asked after a minute. 

* * *

_No, I want your bed, and I want_ in _your bed,_ Sam was tempted to reply, but this time he stopped himself before he said the words out loud. And where the fuck had they come from anyway?

"I, um, just don't want to wake you up when I have to go," he stammered instead. "And I don't think I need the clinic. I mean, it isn't as if I could have caught anything, what with my lifestyle." Unless he got it from Dean that night, but then Dean would have noticed the same thing on himself, only earlier, and besides, what STD showed up after three months? Plus, there'd been a condom.

"I'm good with either bed as long as you don't yell at me for waking you up if I bump into your bed." Sam forced a smile and met his brother's eyes for the fraction of a second. "Just trying to look out for you, bro," he said warmly.

* * *

Dean was a light sleeper unless he was beyond exhaustion, and they both knew it. Ten hours on the road didn't get him there. Propping himself up on one elbow, Dean mused, "Remember how we had to share a bed a lot of our lives, and that was when we were lucky. Even when we were teenagers, Dad left us to deal with it." 

He rolled his eyes in remembrance. John never cared what puberty might put Dean and eventually Sam through, in the night. On full military discipline, it was sometimes weeks that Dean went with his stones full and raw, or he'd cum in his sleep and in the morning there'd be furtiveness and tight-lipped frowning. There had been those times when one or both of the brothers were frustrated, angry, coming off a post-hunt rush just relieved to be alive and they'd helped each other, humping together and even using hands a few times. Just one more thing they never talked about. No need really, it had just been teenage hormones, and to some degree, to thumb their noses at John, who'd had some unrealistic ideas about purity. As soon as he'd been able, Dean rubbed it his father's face exactly what he thought of _that_ , rebellion in the only way he could get away with. He'd already disposed of his virginity a year before John caught him with a truck-stop waitress doing the nasty in Baby's back seat. When he'd tried to lecture his errant son on the virtues of abstaining, Dean recited a list of names, places, and deeds and told him to get a chastity device if he thought he'd control Dean in that manner, and good luck putting it on him. Even John hadn't enforced his will – or broached the subject again. 

"Fuck it," Dean heard himself say. "You'll wake me anyway, this way we both get what we want." He threw back the covers, got out of bed, crawled over Sam and slid into the other side of that bed. "There. We both win." He grinned and turned on his side facing away from Sam, punching his pillow a couple of times. The scent of his brother rolled into his nostrils. Freshly showered or not, he just smelled so... Delicious. 

* * *

Sam couldn't believe his eyes and ears when Dean simply announced that they should share a bed and thus both get what they wanted. Had his brother read his thoughts? Only what Sam wanted was more than to share the bed for sleep. But maybe Dean wanted that, too?

Dean was facing away, but Sam felt pulled toward him. He bit his lip, wondering if what he was about to suggest would earn him a black eye, but decided to speak out anyway.

"Um, since you mentioned sharing a bed when we were little..." Sam tried not to think of the hurried hand-jobs but focus on how warm and safe he'd always felt close to Dean. Sheltered. Protected by his fierce, strong, older brother. That was what he was yearning for now. 

Sam crawled closer toward Dean until he was almost spooning him. "Is this... okay?"

* * *

Sam didn't throw a hissy or – literally – Dean out of bed. Dean managed to relax, but it would be a while before he slept. Behind him, though, Sam didn't lie still or conk out; he moved closer. Dean tried to keep his breathing even. He could feel the heat of his brother's body like a blaze even without them touching. Then Sam asked if 'this' would be okay. 

"Alright. Unless you wanted me to be the big spoon." That's how they'd done it as kids and teens. Now that Sam had four inches of height on him, that might seem strange, other than that Sam was and would always be Dean's little brother. 

* * *

Sam was floored by Dean's reaction. They'd been snarking at each other for most of the day, and now... However, there had been real concern in Dean's earlier questions if Sam was alright. Now, in the darkness, all Sam felt was that Dean was there, taking care of him.

"I... whatever you prefer," he said. It didn't matter which of them was the big spoon as long as Sam could touch Dean. He rubbed his face against Dean's back and sighed deeply.

"I dunno what's happening," Sam admitted as he curled up against his older brother. "I've been feeling weird all day and... you being here helps. I wanna be close, need this, dunno why, but please don't send me away."

* * *

Whatever they did in the dark, Dean supposed, would remain there, just like it always had. While Sam's choice of the word 'close' unnerved him, because Dean didn't do close, that his and Sam's bond went deeper than blood went without saying, too. 

"We'll get you some tissues for your issues tomorrow, buddy. Go ahead: Spoon me, baby." Dean let a slight sarcastic edge into his voice, though the volume was soft to counteract it. Sam was pretty much doing that anyway. He was so warm! They'd never done this as two full-grown men. It felt good, comfortable, not awkward. His brother's chest was a wall of solid muscle. One of his nipples, a stiff nub even in their relaxed warmth, poked Dean's shoulder blade. His long, muscular legs curled directly behind Dean's. Even Sam's junk resting against his ass with two layers of clothes between them was kinda... sexy. Not that he'd say that out loud. "Alright, go to sleep." 

* * *

"U-huh," Sam replied, and yawned. "Good night, De." He rubbed his face against Dean's shoulder once more and let himself fall into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't quite bright daylight outside when Sam opened his eyes in the morning, but he knew they had a lot of work ahead, so he decided to get up. After carefully extricating himself from Dean's arms – they'd exchanged roles with regards to who spooned whom a few times during the night, as Sam had registered every time he'd woken up for a pee – and a quick trip to the bathroom, he shrugged out of his sweat pants and into jeans. They were beginning to smell – the jeans as well as the sweat pants – and he added laundry to the day's agenda with a sigh.

Pocketing his wallet from the night stand, his eyes fell on his sleeping brother, and Sam couldn't suppress a smile: Dean looked adorable. As relaxed as he seemed, Sam knew that Dean could be up and fully alert in a fraction of a second, aiming his gun at a potential intruder, but for some mysterious reason he hadn't woken up when Sam had left the bed. 

Given Dean's usual light sleep, it surprised Sam, but it had been a long time since they'd had an opportunity to rest undisturbed, so he wasn't worried. Still, he knew that Dean would be worried if he woke up and found Sam gone, so Sam scribbled a short note that he'd gone for coffee and stuck it on his pillow.

At the diner, he bought not only the coffee – plain for Dean and a cinnamon-cream concoction for himself – but also a chocolate shake for Dean as he remembered Dean's longing look from the day before. The diner didn't offer pie yet, but Sam added a couple of Danish pastries to go with the coffee. That should keep them going through their first round of research on the 'Net, choosing their ID's, and preparing for the job. 

Sam paid and returned to their room where Dean still hadn't stirred. Grinning with mischief, Sam held the chocolate shake under his brother's nose. "Hey, bro, wake up, man, I got us coffee."

He hated to wake him now that Dean was for once gifted with deep slumber, but they didn't have the luxury to indulge.

* * *

When Dean woke up, Sam was gone. There was a note on his pillow which Dean squinted at blearily for a moment before he comprehended the message that Sam had gone for coffee. Good, he'd need it. Sam had been to the bathroom at least twice in the night, and the two of them had flopped around and switched positions each time. Deciding to catch a few more Z's while he could, Dean drifted into REM sleep quickly. 

The next thing he registered was Sam's voice telling him to wake up. Groaning, Dean rubbed his fists in his eyes and forced himself to sit up. The scent of decent coffee made it fractionally easier. Scratching his bare belly, he wandered into the bathroom for his morning pee. That taken care of, he retrieved the coffee Sam had left for him on the table. There was a Danish for him, too, and another large, insulated to-go cup. "What's this?" he asked.

* * *

Sam frowned. What was wrong with Dean's nose? Yesterday, he'd commented that Sam smelled weird, and now he couldn't recognize the delicious aroma of the chocolate shake? Maybe Sam wasn't the only one who was... off... somehow...

"Somebody mentioned a chocolate shake last night," he replied lightly. "If you don't want it..." he teased and held the cup just out of Dean's reach.

* * *

Dean didn't fail to notice the look Sam threw in his direction, like he was slow in the head or else had grown an extra one, but he didn't care. Sam gave him that version of bitchface a few times a week. Instead, he grinned in delight. "Coffee, chocolate AND sugar? Awesome! I anticipate one hell of a buzz in a few minutes." 

The coffee was too hot to drink yet, so he started with the shake. Whoever had made it had made it thick, meaning Dean had to suck so hard on the straw to get any of the sweet, creamy treat into his mouth that his cheeks hollowed. "So good!" he moaned ecstatically when he finally got a mouthful. "You want some?" Dean held out the cup to Sam. He doubted his brother would indulge, but if there was ever a reason, this was it. 

* * *

The honest and spontaneous answer to Dean's offer would have been, _I wanna suck it from your mouth,_ but of course he couldn't say that out loud. Instead, he returned Dean's smile and nodded. "I'll have a mouthful before you change your mind," he grinned and accepted the cup.

Dean hadn't exaggerated: the shake tasted heavenly.

"I hope we'll need a few days to solve the white hair mystery," Sam announced when he – reluctantly – returned the cup. "That's even better than my white chocolate and caramel latte with extra cream. Let's see what the pastries are like – oh, and by the way, I'd have brought pie, but they don't serve it before noon. Do you support my conclusion that we should get going soon so we can return here in time for lunch?"

* * *

Surprised, Dean watched as a food-gasm-like expression crossed Sam's face. Usually his brother ate for fuel and nutrition, not for taste or any particular enjoyment. Well, about time Sam pulled the stick out of his ass. Dean might just make a good little – OK, huge – heathen out of him yet. 

"Yep. Time to put on the monkey suits. You know me – I'd rather get the work part of work out of the way, the sooner the better. Especially if it involves any research at the library." Between sips of coffee and shake and bites of Danish, they dressed in their cheap but official-looking suits and ties. Dean went to see to his hair, shave and brush his teeth, though the effect of that wouldn't last long what with the coffee-breath. He returned to the room itself to give Sam a turn in the bathroom. While he waited, Dean flicked on the TV and sat on the bed. Preschool cartoons, national news, a talk show, then the local news. Dean stopped on that channel. He just caught the tail end of the story, but by the sound of it, there was another vic as of this morning. 

"Did you hear that, Sam?" he called out. "Another case of instant white hair discovered this morning. Another guy. Middle-aged, married, kids, steady job, the whole nine. Sucks to be normal, huh? Anyway, if we leave now, we can probably track down all of them before lunch. Geez, whoever heard of not serving pie for breakfast? I'll bet they have plenty just sitting around in their fridge," he grumbled, sliding his .45 into the back of his waistband, pocketing his wallet and Baby's keys. They'd sort out their fake ID's in the car. 

What was taking Sam so long? Chances were he didn't want to know, but hey, Sam had been the one to suggest hurrying to start their investigation. 

* * *

Sam had just finished his ablutions when Dean called out that there'd been another victim. What on earth was going on in this town?

Back in the room, he reluctantly dressed in the cheap polyester suit and struggled with his tie while Dean complained about the diner not serving pie for breakfast. Well, if things went as expected, they'd return in time for lunch and Dean could stuff his face. 

Sam wasn't exactly put off by the idea of indulging either. Usually, he stuck mostly to healthy food, but pie suddenly sounded like the highlight of the day. He wasn't even hungry after the Danish, but there'd been the tiny sip of chocolate shake...

"I'm ready," he announced after winning the battle with the tie. "What say you, shall we grab another chocolate shake on the way to town?"

* * *

"Sure, okay." Dean's eyebrows rose into little peaks in surprise. Despite his taste for frou-frou coffee drinks, which provided Dean with hours' worth of material with which to badger his brother, Sam never indulged himself with sweet treats and junk food these days. Yesterday he'd mentioned gummy worms, too, but Dean had taken that as more of a reminiscence of their youth on the road with their dad. "Are you growing a sweet tooth? That's so... Not you. Huh. Maybe we should ask the vics if they've also had strange cravings lately. Better watch out, you'll wake up white-haired, though 27 doesn't exactly count as middle-aged." 

Dean moved on before Sam count pick up the thread and rip on him about his over-30 status. He quipped, "'Don't drink the water,'" and laughed out loud, a slightly manic edge taking over. "I'll wait outside," he finished, and escaped out the door and into the familiar dimensions of the driver's seat of his ride. Something scratched at his brain, some connection he wasn't making. But then Sam appeared, locking the door to their room behind them, and he forgot about it. 

* * *

"Uh, better be careful what you say," Sam replied. "You just never know: after all, it could turn out to be the water." He smirked. "All the more reason to get another chocolate shake. That's made from milk and I haven't read any reports on white cows in the region. Yet."

Sam locked the door to their motel room and joined Dean in the car. "Are you sure you don't want another one, too? Just to tide you over until they bring out the pie?"

* * *

Of course, once again Sam had 'the' answer. "Ugh, you're right, I suppose, but there's water in coffee and cows drink the water, too. So if something's gonna happen, it's gonna happen. I think I've had enough for now... Unless you're craving another helping."

Turning the key in the ignition, Dean sighed in satisfaction as the engine roared to life. He backed out of their parking spot in front of the door and put the car in drive, moving slowly through the lot till Sam decided. "Or, let's get this over with." They had the newspaper from the previous day still. "Let's get today's paper and see if there's anything. I got the name of today's vic and his doctor off the local news channel on TV: Mr. Walter Spotts and Dr. Jane Hostinson. I don't know about him, but the news anchor said she works at the medical center downtown. As good a place as any to start."

* * *

Dean's reply regarding coffee suggested that he hadn't been following Sam's chain of reasoning. Sam appreciated that his brother was already working on the case, but he couldn't help winding him up a little. With a long-suffering expression on his face he said, "Last I heard, cows don't drink coffee. I was offering you another chocolate shake, and that's made without coffee, only with milk." Not sure how Dean would take it he refrained from adding an affectionate 'jerk.'

"So, today's paper," Sam joined the topic. "I'm sure we can get one at the hospital, together with a few hare-brained theories from the patients and relatives, and maybe a few sensible ones from the staff. As we discussed, I'll leave _Jane_ to you. I'm sure you can get something out of her." Sam grinned widely.

* * *

Rolling his eyes, Dean replied in an overly patient voice, "What do cows eat, Sammy? Grass, but they drink water, which they need to make milk. Unless the pasteurization process kills potential white hair-causing toxins and the same for boiling-temperature water for coffee, we could have had a dose already with either coffee or milkshake." He changed back to his normal voice. "Dude, I know cows don't drink coffee, unless the herds around here are more highly evolved than most." 

The medical center wasn't hard to find, rising a few stories higher than the surrounding buildings, its name in big bold black-and-silver letters near the top. Traffic wasn't heavy, and they reached it in only a few minutes. "Dig out our CDC badges, Sam. I'm sure I can convince _Jane_ to give me something," he snorted. Now they were back on familiar territory. Since he'd been old enough to admire female anatomy, Dean had flirted, sweet-talked, kissed, licked and screwed his way to needed information for cases. Let Sam berate him like some shocked church-lady all he wanted, Dean's methods' good percentage of success told their own tale. He passed the ER doors and headed around to the side, where a few nicotine addicts were taking a smoke break. 

"The latest vic's still here for observation, as of this morning. I get the feeling the others have been cut loose. I mean, it's not like they're sick or hurt... As far as we know." Yeah, as far as they knew. If it really was a CDC job, he and Sam might be able to fake their way through autopsies and quarantines thanks to previous cases but real disease control was beyond them. Unless it was supernatural in nature, and then who knew? "We go in together, flash the badges, but after that split up like you said. Anything fishy, text or call, okay?" Dean found a parking spot where he could pull all the way through to be able to drive out, rather than back up. Shutting off the car, he looked expectantly at his brother. 

* * *

Dean had, of course, a point: cows didn't drink coffee, but they did drink water. Still, Sam would insist that so far, no cow had turned white. "I guess you're right," he admitted, feeling sheepish. "But if it was the water, I'd think that more people would be affected. Or maybe it's water, after all, only we need to narrow down _the_ water. Could be bottled. Then again, it could be almost everything," he sighed.

"So, you do that doctor," Sam winked at the bad pun, "and the nurses, while I speak with the ones that are affected and their relatives." He took the cigar box with their fake ID's from the glove box and chose the CDC badges. 

"There you go, Dr. Gilmour." Sam handed Dean the tag and made to affix his own when he suddenly felt lightheaded and slightly sick. "I... What...?" 

Then, everything happened so fast that all Sam could was gulp as he jumped out of the Impala and just about made it to the trash can next to the ER doors before he started vomiting violently. His stomach spasmed and he retched until nothing more came up. When the heaving stopped, his vision was blurry and his legs felt like rubber.

"What the...?" Too weak and dizzy to stand, Sam sat on the sidewalk. What the fuck was wrong with him?

* * *

"Thanks, Dr. Waters... What the fuck?!" Next thing Dean knew, Sam was face first in the nearest trash can, puking up his guts. He grimaced in sympathy. It sounded like a bad case, and he sincerely hoped he wasn't next. Approaching from the side so that Sam wouldn't freak out, Dean stood there awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets. Keeping a look-out, he supposed. If any staff saw this, would they even be allowed on the premises? This was so much easier when Sam was little, at least back then he knew what to do: hold that stupid floppy hair back, clean up the mess, clean up Sam. When he looked up again, a blonde nurse from the looks of her scrubs was bearing down on them. Dean didn't want a confrontation before they set foot in the place. 

Sam finally seemed to have horked it all up; he sat down on the sidewalk, pale and sweaty. Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Bad Danish," he called out, sheepish. At least the nurse was sorta hot. Long legs, that was good. Any second though, she'd probably start taking Sam's vitals. Not so good. "He'll be OK, just a bit of morning sickness," Dean joked. "No really, we have an appointment anyway. Dr. Ja-, uh, Dr. Hostinson." 

* * *

Once he was sitting down and had regained his breath, Sam felt so embarrassed that he just wanted to close his eyes and wait for the audience he'd acquired to go away. Okay, his audience consisted only out of a nurse and Dean – who'd never stop ribbing him about this, beginning with the remark on 'morning sickness.'

Sam wanted to snort, but his stomach still felt slightly queasy and he didn't want to provoke another hurling attack. "I'm good," he confirmed with a hoarse voice.

The nurse looked unconvinced, but she finally nodded. "You'll want to clean up," she announced. "After that, the resident can look you over while you wait for Dr. Hostinson."

Thankfully, Dean got Sam's unspoken message that he didn't need help to get to his feet, and they followed the nurse through the ER doors. She pointed Sam to a small bathroom where he washed his face and rinsed his mouth before returning to the waiting area, planning on joining Dean who was still flirting with the nurse. 

* * *

While Sam cleaned up in the restroom just off the ER, Dean introduced himself to the nurse, whose name was Leah Taylor, as Dr. David Gilmour, CDC, from St. Louis, infectious disease and clinical pathology specialist, but call him Dave, wink, wink. Thanks to his bout with ghost fever a couple years past, Dean had picked up some useful buzzwords. The flirting wasn't exactly unwelcome either, truth be told. What with all the unexplained hormone surges in the last day and all the cuddling last night, Dean found himself falling easily into the routine. They stood facing, leaning against the stark white wall as people hurried here and there past them. Through swinging doors, Dean couldn't hear much, but he supposed Monday mornings were probably not peak hours for the emergency department. At some point, he or Sam would likely have to grill the ER doc. That could wait. First this little piece. 

Nurse Leah, age 28, 5'8 and a student in the NP program, was currently on day shift in the general medical and post-surgical ward, but she was happy to inform him that all staff were required to work two ER shifts per month to keep their skills sharp so she was confident his 'partner' would be in good hands if necessary. And that she was off at 4:00PM. And recently single. Dean eyed the athletic physique and perky tits under the baggy light green scrubs. Smiled. Sidled half a step closer. He was just enough taller where she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye, and yeah, she was into that. In Dean's experience, women who weren't intimidated by him physically or because of his face were the best lays. 

"I – we'll – be working mostly straight through till we wrap up this..." he withdrew a small notebook, the kind to write in by hand and pretended to consult his – memorized – notes, "call we received about some gentlemen waking up with their hair gone pure white overnight. You hear anything about that? Oh, and when we do solve the case or take a break, I might appreciate some, uh, company. If you think you might be up for that." 

Leah revealed she'd seen the second guy at a distance but he hadn't been one of her charges. Word had it Dr. Hostinson had been very close-lipped – she was the attending for at least two of the vics, apparently. Dean didn't even have to hint about her theory or the rumors flying around. This girl sure liked to talk. It was the old Durant place, she was sure of it, some weirdness on their property every few years. Not that she knew what it was, only that at one time, they'd owned a lot more land and there'd been suspicious deaths since there'd been settlers in the area. The townspeople thought anything from ghosts to witches to something funky with the local hot springs – all of it similar to ideas he and Sam had tossed around. 

Then, displaying dimples to rival Sam's, Leah tossed a reddish-brown ponytail back over her shoulder and agreed to drinks later 'if he had time', meaning she would make time, and gave directions to Hostinson's department in the on-site clinic. In return, Dean touched her arm briefly and did his lip thing, parting them slightly, curling the upper one, and darting his tongue out. Oh yeah, her green-brown eyes widened and her pupils expanded. 'Gotcha,' Dean thought. 

Out loud he concluded that his colleague should be fine, was known to have a touchy stomach, and shouldn't need a trip to the ER, thanks anyway. Leah got the message. After a hand-shake that said not just 'nice to meet you' but 'meet you later', she took off, back to her post, he assumed. Dean watched her go. Yep, really nice legs. And a tight little ass. 

Damn, Sam had been in that bathroom a long time. Maybe he should check. Or maybe he should mind his own business. Finally he knocked. "Hey, uh, Dr. Waters? Y'alright in there?" 

* * *

Damn, Dean was whaling on the door already. Why wasn't he busy with his nurse? After a final look in the mirror that suggested he didn't look like the walking dead any longer, Sam left the bathroom.

Outside, he was met by his brother. Furthermore, a woman in a white lab coat was approaching them while he hurriedly confirmed to Dean that he was fine. She was a tall – and pregnant – black girl with tired eyes and hair that was braided into neat cornrows.

"Good morning," she introduced herself, "I'm Jane Hostinson. Nurse Taylor let me know that there are two gentlemen from the CDC asking for me, which I assume you are, Dr. Waters," she identified Sam after a quick glance at his name tag and offered her hand, "and Dr. Gilmour." She shook with Dean, then turned to Sam again. "I also hear that you fainted, so I suggest I give you a quick once-over before we start talking shop."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand. "Please indulge me, Dr. Waters. Since you're here, you're aware that we had a few... incidences. We haven't released everything to the public in order to spare the ER the usual spooks who bleach their hair for some attention. Commonality of symptoms is hard to establish since there've been – fortunately – only a handful of cases, but they occurred in males in their best age," she gave Sam a pointed look, "and one of the men suffered from nausea and another from low blood pressure. I promise that this won't take long." Her smile was grim and suggested that she wouldn't take no for an answer.

When Sam looked at his brother for advice, Dr. Hostinson stopped Dean from following. "I'm sure you respect your colleague's privacy," she said and led Sam to the nearest examination room.

The look Sam threw Dean as he followed her was not happy. What did she mean that privacy was needed? She'd mentioned blood pressure, but now it sounded as if her tests would include something nasty like a rectal exam. A feeling of doom settled over him as the door closed behind them.

Dr. Hostinson didn't waste time. "Did you experience anything out of the ordinary during the past few days?" she asked while she pushed his sleeve up and attached an inflatable cuff.

Sam was reluctant to tell her of the weird cravings for sweets and his trouble urinating, but the look she gave him made him admit to them. He did, however not mention that the cravings extended to lusting for his brother. No way was he going to admit that, ever.

"Your BP is 105 over 80," Dr. Hostinson concluded. "Is that normal for you?"

Caught without a clue as to what his normal blood pressure was, Sam shrugged, which made her smirk. "Do you know how refreshing it is to meet a healthcare worker that isn't over-concerned about his labs?" she commented dryly, then continued. "Please fill this for me so we can rule out a bladder infection." She handed him a cup and pointed at a privacy curtain.

Ironically, when he unzipped behind the curtain it was the first time in the past two days that he wasn't desperate to go. Still, he managed to squeeze out a few drops and hoped it would be enough for the test. He should really read up on all that medical crap a CDC doctor was supposed to know! He handed the cup over to the doctor and fled the exam room when she told him to wait outside.

Dean looked at him with an expectant – leery? – expression on his face that immediately raised Sam's hackles. "Dude," he exclaimed, "pull your mind out of the gutter! She asked me to pee in a cup, but that's all that happened."

* * *

The second Sam was out of the bathroom, they were met by a doctor, judging by the white coat and stethoscope around her neck. She confirmed she was Dr. Hostinson, which Dean would have been suspicious of as too much of a coincidence until she announced Leah had told her of their presence. So much for giving him directions – the nurse had trotted right up there the second she'd left. 

Dr. Hostinson seemed no-nonsense, and hustled Sam into a cubicle for an examination almost immediately in the name of checking him for so-far-undisclosed symptoms that she hinted the vics all had in common. There was no point in protesting, and besides, Sam had been off and maybe the tests would actually pinpoint his problem. Or it could just be the flu. Or a slight case of food poisoning. Maybe Sam had developed lactose intolerance – wouldn't that be fitting with the grumpy little bugger's profile? Or maybe it was just morning sickness. If there was ever a man to get pregnant, not a transgender with a few leftover parts but a real, tree-hugging, granola-munching, emo yet gun-toting, bad-kicking uber-dude to get knocked up, it would have to be Sam. Ha! More canon fodder. Dean couldn't wait to bring up the hormonal mood swings (normal for Sam anyway), weird food cravings (what do you expect if you don't eat anything but grilled chicken and veggies for months?), stretch marks (okay, not sexy)... He spared a quick grin over his own cleverness. And that brought Dean back to Dr. Hostinson.

Though taller and a little older than his usual taste and she looked tired, Dean might have tried to hit on her anyway, she was attractive enough with dozens of tiny cornrow braids and gleaming white teeth. She reminded him of someone, though he couldn't quite put a finger on who, almost like he should know her. Besides having a firm, cool handshake, she was also six or seven months pregnant. Anyone who'd met him could vouch for the fact that Dean was no prude, so it wasn't the pregnancy that threw him off – she hadn't reached the about-to-pop stage yet. That would have been a new experience for him; Dean was hardly adverse to such things. 'Their' doctor wore a wedding ring though, one thing he didn't mess with. Too bad. He'd also have said he left the business of sex with supernatural beings to Sam, but that wasn't 100% true – angels missing their Grace and all that.

Speaking of, Sam was behind a curtain with Dr. Hostinson right now. Dean's vivid imagination took over. Of course she'd be professional but... Tightening the blood pressure cuff till those veins popped, making him open his mouth wide, feeling him up for swollen lymph nodes... Before he could get to the good stuff where Sam was naked and the Doc was ordering him to alternately cough and relax, his brother reappeared, slightly disheveled. Whatever Sam's other talents, he always seemed to know when Dean was having dirty thoughts and chided him. "Oh? Did she hold it for you?" Dean half-whispered, waggling his eyebrows. 

* * *

Of course, Dean mocked him, but Sam was spared having to reply when Dr. Hostinson called him back almost immediately.

"The dip test showed neither leukocytes nor protein, but I strongly recommend you have this checked out sooner rather than later. I needn't tell you that most urination problems in males come from the prostate or kidneys. You're too young for BPH, so I've taken the liberty of making an appointment with a colleague from Urology in an hour. That will give us ample time to discuss our outbreak of... maybe you already have a name for it? But let's not make your colleague wait." She smiled at him noncommittally and brushed past him. Outside the exam room, she nodded at Dean to follow them and led them to an office labeled with her name. "Please take a seat, gentlemen. Coffee?"

* * *

Of course Sam didn't answer the dig, not that Dean expected anything but a garden variety bitchface pointed in his direction. The doctor saved him even from that by calling Sam back right away. Without a clue as to what she might have said to him the first time, all Dean had to go on was that she'd done a quick urine test, something basic enough that it hadn't gone to the lab. He couldn't really demand to know the results. Well, he _could_ , but it would look odd, since Dr. Hostinson had no idea they were brothers. Dean cursed himself for daydreaming about Sam being 'examined' – seriously, what was up with that?! – rather than finding a way to eavesdrop. 

Next thing he knew, she was marching them up to her office on the second floor. About to start grilling her on the vics, Dean found himself sidetracked by the offer of coffee. He'd never pass on that, and only hoped that the hospital's version was decent. Considering the long shifts, plus they'd want to keep their doctors happy, it probably was at least better than motel or convenience store coffee. "Um, sure. Black."

He fidgeted in his chair. Damn, he hated hospitals and clinics. By now, he should be used to it, what with the amount of time they spent in them. It was the smell, he decided. The disinfectant, blood, surgical steel. Steaming cup in hand, he asked, "So, Doctor, you mentioned some commonality of symptoms in the... patients. I mean besides the hair color change. What are those, exactly?"

* * *

After accepting a cup of – surprisingly good – coffee from Dr. Hostinson, Sam sat back and let Dean conduct the interview. He'd cut in if his brother missed something, but didn't think it would be necessary. Whereas Sam had more success questioning victims or anyone who'd open up to compassion, Dean was the better-suited man when it came to drawing information from women in general. Sure, Dr. Hostinson was very pregnant, but Sam had yet to see a woman who wouldn't open up to his brother's charms.

"Well, the hair color is the only outward sign we could find that all patients have in common," Dr. Hostinson said. "None of them had recently suffered any kind of trauma that could even begin to explain it, though. Except that they're all otherwise mostly healthy human males between 28 and 46 so far, they don't seem to have anything in common. I emphasize human because we haven't heard of a similar phenomenon happening to pets or cattle. The patients don't live in the same part of town and they don't appear to know each other. We have a carpenter, a bank manager, a mechanic, a school teacher, a clerk, a car salesman, and a vet nurse. Three have a family, one is married without kids, one is dating, one single, possibly gay. One guy suffered from nausea and diarrhea recently, one from recent hypotension, and a third has asthma. Their habits, sports, church, even supermarkets don't overlap."

Sam remained quiet, and although Dean didn't say anything, he encouraged her with her eyes to continue.

"I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm not sure I trust that they've been telling me everything. When we took their history, especially after the second patient presented, we were very thorough and included questions regarding sexual habits. All men said they were fine, but I can't put my finger on it, something sounded off. I had a male colleague repeat the interviews, but the patients weren't any more forthcoming."

She smiled grimly. "I'm not suggesting how you should do your work, gentlemen, but if it was my case and my authority extended outside the hospital, I'd talk to their partners."

* * *

"Alright... Well, the news I caught on TV this morning said the latest was the fourth vic, and what we've seen online indicated no more than three, plus the guys were reported to all be middle aged and married." Dean glanced sideways at his brother, who nodded. "So actually, other than you're convinced they're all covering up or lying about something, the hair, and that they're all male, they have less in common than we thought, and there are more of them."

He gathered his thoughts. "Now certainly I can understand why they wouldn't want media attention, but why did no one bother to correct the local news, at least, about the number? And then, when did the other two present?" Having found in the past it was helpful to mimic phrasing and tone, Dean continued in a similar manner. "Since there were no other similarities across all six, we may have to settle for matches in some but not all. I – we – will need to see their full charts, but you were expecting that." With the most charming smile he could manage, Dean finished with, "I'm sure your instincts are working fine, so please... We will certainly interview their wives, girlfriends, what have you, but what in _your_ professional opinion are these men not telling? More like they need a prescription for Cialis, or the opposite, or something... deviant?" He substituted the final word in place of 'kinky' at the last second. Even that might raise Dr. Hostinson's eyebrows, but she'd already hinted. 

* * *

"We tried to keep the information from the media for two main reasons," Dr. Hostinson explained. "We don't need a panic, and we don't want bored or drug-seeking kids to bleach their hair and crowd the ER. Unfortunately, it's almost impossible to keep things secret because the patients and their relatives talk to the press."

She sighed. "This also means that everything gets exaggerated. The last two cases reported to the ER this morning. They're still here and maybe you can emphasize on them the importance of keeping quiet. Isn't there some legal shit you can throw at them to shut them up?"

Not really expecting an answer, Dr. Hostinson continued. "I don't know what these men are hiding. Or if they're hiding anything at all. Maybe it's just a guys-don't-talk-about-sex thing I'm not privy to. They may even have told Dr. Rawlins after swearing him to secrecy." She snorted. "This hospital isn't exactly a girls' club. You should go ask Rawlins. Being guys, he may tell you more than he told me."

When she favored Sam with a sharp look, Sam guessed that Rawlins was the urologist he was supposed to meet later, and that she was giving him an excuse to cover up his appointment. Since Rawlins was a man, Sam assumed that Dean would go along.

"Um, why don't we split up?" Sam suggested. "Dr. Gilmour, you could go through the charts with Dr. Hostinson while I see if I can gather more information from Dr. Rawlins."

* * *

"Right." Dean supposed there were worse things than being stuck in an office with an attractive female, albeit a pregnant and married one. He'd like it better if she wasn't there breathing down his neck. Some weird interplay had passed between Hostinson and Sam, but he'd have to wait till he could speak to Sam away from listening ears before he could grill him. This Rawlins might share whatever it was with Sam – or rather, with Dr. Waters, MD, CDC... Oh, wait. Rawlins was a urologist. Dean threw his brother a sharp look of his own, which Sam responded to with a barely perceptible nod. Now the only questions were whether Hostinson had actually found something suspicious when she examined Sam, and if Sam would succeed in getting Rawlins to talk.

"If you could direct me to a free office or conference room, I won't take up more of your time, for the moment. Just get me the charts or the password if they're online, and I'll get to work," Dean requested firmly, although he expected some pushback, there always was. Luckily Bobby was on standby. All he had to do was dial his 'supervisor' and Bobby – make that Dr. Mason – would pick up the red phone and bark a few choice words. "We can't throw around any legal shit, as you put it, till we've identified a valid threat beyond cosmetic symptoms. If you think it'll be a while for those medical records, I'll begin interviews of patients and families while Dr. Waters consults with Dr. Rawlins."

With that, Dean rose from his chair. He straightened his tie and hoped the take-charge mentality would get him into the files. So far, no one had questioned their right to be here. It was all in the attitude, looking and sounding official. Most of the time, their act was busted once people discovered the true – supernatural – reason for whatever bizarre happenings they were investigating. Till then, though... And so far, this case had no clear patterns at all that he could see.

* * *

"Of course," Dr. Hostinson replied immediately, to Sam's surprise, and, apparently also to Dean's. It wasn't uncommon that their demands were met, but more often than not they had to fight through some administrative issues before being granted full rein of the investigation. However, Sam frowned when he learned the reason for this as the doctor continued.

"Frankly, I'm – pleasantly – surprised that you guys made it here so quickly. After I spoke with your colleagues on the phone, they didn't give me the impression of being in any great hurry to send a team here to investigate. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, and I've already arranged that an office be prepared for you. Including, of course, full computer access to the charts."

So they'd better move fast before the real CDC turned up.

* * *

Oh goodie, Hostinson had actually called the CDC on her own. Not great news, but news they needed to be in the loop about. Dean pretended he was aware. "We were not far from here, comparatively. Last job was in Cheyenne, Wyoming," Dean pronounced it in the accent of that region, "Wah-YOH-min" and smirked. "Long boring drive, but we go where we're sent." 

By then he was already following Dr. Hostinson out of her office, down the corridor at a fast clip and into a different though roughly identical office. Inside stood a hospital-issue desk and chair, two additional chairs, a cabinet, and the standard wall charts and waste receptacles. As long as there was a working computer and system access, that was all Dean needed. 

Hostinson insisted on 'driving' at first. Fine, that gave Dean a chance to write each patient's name and vital statistics on its own page in his notebook. The hospital's system was easy enough. If they needed to hack in later, Sam should be able to crack it. Each patient had a number assigned, but could also be looked up by name, date of birth, social security number, or any account number associated with their billing. All of the medical records were imaged, most with attached transcriptions. They could be sorted by date, and there were links specific to labs, radiology, preventative care, sick visits, ER visits, outpatient surgery, inpatient stays, prescriptions, and 'other'. 

Dean observed all this, then said to Hostinson, "I've got the idea, thank you, Doctor. Question: how long is the delay from chart to image? These patients still on site, their most recent info won't be here yet. Could you look up their room numbers? I'd like to catch them before they're released. Or... I can look them up," he hinted again that there was no reason for her to babysit. 

* * *

By the time Dr. Hostinson declared their session ended, Sam was already squirming in his seat again, desperate for a toilet. Dr. Hostinson gave him a sympathetic look and put her hand on her distended belly, which suggested that she knew what it felt like to have to go all the time. She gave him instructions to Dr. Rawlins' office and left with Dean.

Sam detoured to a restroom on the way, but he was still far from relaxed when the urologist bade him enter his examination room. He'd had a prostate exam before from that nurse that had turned out to be a wraith at the mental hospital and he remembered it to be mainly embarrassing and somehow weird but not scary. What he was, however, beginning to feel seriously uncomfortable over was the nagging feeling that there may really be something wrong with him. As a child, Sam had often been sick, but except for the occasional injury – job hazard – he'd enjoyed solid good health ever since he'd reunited with Dean for hunting. 

Dr. Rawlins interrupted his musings by asking him to drop his pants. Sam obliged and a minute later, the doctor told him that his prostate didn't 'exhibit abnormal findings,' but he suggested an ultrasound for further diagnostics. Which was why Sam eventually found himself on an exam table with his pants pushed down and a cold, slippery probe pressing on his once again, due to an apparently full bladder, sensitive pubic region.

Sam's heart rate picked up a little when the doctor's blank expression turned into a frown. "Your problem isn't your bladder," Dr. Rawlins announced after shifting the probe around. "It's... but see for yourself." He turned the screen so Sam could see.

Sam saw and recognized... nothing. The image on the screen looked maybe like a ghost signal on a black and white TV with a broken antenna. This could be a problem because he was supposed to be able to understand this kind of stuff, and since it concerned him personally, Dr. Rawlins obviously expected a reaction from him.

"Um, you know," Sam said, "it's been ages since I had to do with one of these. I'm more of a lab boy," he tried to sound convincing. _Think CDC, man!_

Apparently, admitting not to know his stuff had cost him the doctor's good opinion, but Rawlins nodded. "This," he pointed at a roughly oval shape, "is your bladder. And this," another barely distinguishable shape, "shouldn't be here..."

Mercifully, they were interrupted by Sam's cell phone. It was Dean. "Uh, sorry, Dr. Rawlins, I'm afraid I have to take this."

The doctor gave him a funny look but left the room.

"This is Sam," Sam answered Dean's call as soon as he was alone. "Nothing new here so far, have you got anything?"

* * *

Finally Hostinson coughed up the room number he asked for and left him alone to pore over the files. Sam would be better at this, really, but he had his own agenda to follow and there was no reason why Dean couldn't do this sort of research, even if it was boring. The thing was, what they were looking for was not medical. Finding what wasn't there took a lot of reading between the lines. With that in mind, Dean skipped test results and went straight to the ER visit transcripts of the four men that had already been seen and released. 

"...patient reports nightmares, describes as 'severe'." "...patient claims 2-3 hrs sleep/night X 10 days." "Patient's wife states he woke up screaming recently, approx. 6-7 times in the last month." 

The last record didn't have anything like insomnia or nightmares, but the youngest man, age 28, reported he'd been having nocturnal emissions in greater frequency even than during puberty, the disturbing part being that he woke up feeling frightened, not aroused. Ugh. The few wet dreams Dean had had in the span of years were enough to put him off and this poor sod was like a teen again. Well, whatever it was, it liked to mess with people while they were asleep at night. Maybe he'd better let Sam know, and then he'd head down to do his interviews. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed his brother, who picked up just before it might've gone to voice mail. 

"Hey, Sam. Looks like we've got some sort of sleep invader. Not an incubus or succubus I don't think... Something that scares people. There are reports of nightmares, waking up screaming or freaked... Stuff like that. Ever hear of anything like that, like a shtriga for adults maybe? I'd better get into the lore."

No wonder the hospital didn't want this made public. People would start taking speed or massive doses of caffeine if the town got wind of sleep being something to be scared of. 

* * *

"A shtriga for adults? Not anything I've ever heard of. The shtriga goes back to ancient Rome, and back then it was described as manifesting as owl, but already then it fed on children. But you never know. I guess evolution applies to monsters as well, so maybe this one has a palate for adults..." Sam barely caught a breath as he hurried to provide as much information as he could think of. Anything was better than having to deal with whatever it was that Dr. Rawlins had just shown him.

Sam made a decision. They'd solve the case, and only afterward would he allow himself to even think of the implications of an illness. It had been a while since they'd visited Ellen and her man, who'd had set up a clinic after the Roadhouse had been burned down. Sam didn't trust doctors, but if he really needed one, he'd choose Charlie Harris. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to talk Dean into handling Dr. Rawlins. 

"Dean, listen... this guy Rawlins... he's creeping me out. Your girl Jane referred me to him and he insisted on sticking a finger up my ass – I'm all fine inside there," well, this wasn't even a lie since his prostate wasn't the problem, "but still, discussing cases with him after that is more than awkward. Do you think you could, um, talk to him? I'd go online and see what I can find out about shtrigas and the likes."

_Please, Dean, do this for me,_ Sam thought. Then, inspiration struck. "If you save me from this guy, pie is on me for the remaining duration of this job."

* * *

Now that they they had an idea or two, Dean itched to dive into the lore. There had to be something that either caused or contributed to the night-time weirdness. But Sam offered, or rather asked, almost begged, to trade duties. Dean could just see the puppy-dog eyes. Besides his actual enjoyment of research, Sam had another reason – to get away from a creepy doctor. Up till then, he hadn't known Dr. Hostinson had referred Sam there for symptoms. What symptoms? Puking? Dizziness? That hardly seemed like a reason to do a prostate exam, other than in a joking, "every road leads to your ass" sort of way. 

"Yeah, I suppose, Sam. You're darned right you owe me. Dr. Creeper, I mean Rawlins, isn't going near my ass, though, no matter how 'fine' it was for you. One of _those_ in a lifetime was enough." He referred to the hunt where he and Sam had both been subject to the same when they'd gone undercover in the locked ward of the Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital. And to think, it had been the monster that had performed their exams! Dean shuddered. The bitch had had a nasty spike.

OK, so maybe Dean would have better luck with this Rawlins. "Put your pants on and get back up here. Hostinson's office, keep going, hang a right. Let Rawlins know I'll see him in... hm... an hour. I'll head down to the medical wing first, then Rawlins. Heading out now." That was standard goodbye, and Dean punched the End key. He'd put off interviewing patients long enough. 

It took ten minutes to find the room of the vic he planned to visit. Then he had to wait around in the hall another few minutes while the nurse took care of... something or other. Leah wasn't around, to Dean's relief – he'd only get distracted again. When the nurse walked out carrying a covered tray, Dean nodded at him and entered the room. The chart was in its holder at the foot of the bed; Dean grabbed it, introduced himself once again as Dr. Gilmour of the CDC and approached the patient. 

Jonathan Cooper, age 44, single never married, bank manager, didn't appear very impressed or amenable. The man's short hair was snow white, much too 'old' in a face that looked otherwise younger than his years, but tired. Otherwise, he was of average height and weight, and alone in the room. Dean went through the routine, asking Jon to repeat what he could remember of the previous day and leading up to coming to the hospital. In a tone that said he'd already told the story a half dozen times or more, he ground out that he'd had a normal day, gone to bed late and had awoken to one hell of a surprise. 

Dean noticed the chart included that the man had low blood pressure – hypotension – and he asked if that was recent, and if Jon was taking any medication. Yes to it being recent, no to past prescriptions. After he faked his way through the medical part, Dean inquired after his hobbies, which Jon reported were playing guitar, hiking, kayaking, riding horses, though he didn't own any and grilling outdoors. He had in fact been camping out two nights before, near a local landmark called the Hot Hole. Dean blinked at that and asked the guy to repeat himself. The effort it took not to laugh was more than moderate. He was going to make Sam say that out loud, somehow. 

He then asked if Jon had been with anyone on either of the last two nights, or if he recalled any bad dreams, night terrors, sleeplessness or anything unusual. That was – somewhat expectedly – when Dean got averted eyes and hedging. Jon admitted there'd been strange noises and movements when he'd been out camping, enough to where he'd haphazardly packed up in the middle of the night and come home. He could only describe the noises and so forth as unnatural, far then close, whispers in a language he couldn't understand, and he was convinced something had touched him. Dean had been around all manner of monsters and ghosts, and could understand why the guy had freaked, especially if he'd been alone as he claimed. 

The question, "Touched you where?" led to stammering and blushing. Jon equivocated it was probably his imagination, but he finally muttered that "it touched my hair, all of my hair". Visibly upset, he shut down then. Never all that good with distraught vics, Dean told Jon that he'd done the right thing in giving him the full story, and that they'd get to the bottom of whatever it was. The nurse marched back in carrying what Dean knew only as a 'teapot' and he escaped. 

Checking his watch, Dean saw he'd used up most of the hour, so he set out to find Dr. Rawlins's office. Since Sam hadn't called him back, he assumed his proposal to meet an hour after the call would fit the doctor's schedule. 

* * *

Dean ended the call and Sam put his cell phone back in his jacket pocket, then fetched Dr. Rawlins who was waiting outside the exam room. Sam informed him that his colleague, Dr. Gilmour, would meet him in an hour to discuss the white-hair cases. Rawlins was a little surprised at that because Dr. Hostinson had told him that Dr. Waters would consult with him, however, Sam pointed out that it made more sense for Dr. Gilmour to speak with Rawlins because Gilmour was now familiar with the patients' charts.

Just when Sam thought he'd drawn the urologist away from his own issues, Rawlins spoke up again. "That growth you have is about two and a half inches in size, about the size of your bladder, which is why you're having trouble as it exerts pressure on the bladder. Since your micturition issues started only recently, you shouldn't waste time having it checked out. Whatever it is, it's growing fast–"

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware of the implications," Sam cut him off. He didn't have to be a doctor to not like the sound of this. Still, as much as he didn't want to know, he couldn't refrain from asking, "Can you make an educated guess, or any guess at all?"

"Well..." Dr. Rawlins looked as if he was squirming a little, "I didn't recognize anything definite, but... if anything, I'd describe it as resembling an embryo or fetus, 10 to 12 weeks along maybe – which it obviously isn't..." He hesitated. "That is unless you're intersexed, which, as you probably know is a remote possibility even for an um, very male-looking person like you are. However, that itself is extremely unlikely, and even then the chances of a pregnancy... No, I'm no expert on the topic. My knowledge is probably the same as yours, classic med-school textbook style. I strongly recommend you talk to an oncologist. I'm not trying to scare you, but you'll agree that's the best way to rule out any potential malignancy."

Sam had listened and grown more and more scared, but not of a tumor. _It_ had happened three months ago, which fit with the time scale of fetal development the doctor had mentioned. It wasn't possible. Men didn't get pregnant. Besides, Dean had worn a condom... 

Balling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, Sam forced himself to smile. It probably came out as a terrifying grin but Rawlins didn't seem to notice. "Just wondering," Sam was surprised by how normal his voice sounded, "wouldn't an... Intersex condition show up on a hormone panel?" 

If he asked outright for a pregnancy test he'd end up in the locked ward, but as outrageous as it sounded, he needed to know. He pulled his face into an expression that Dean would call sheepish. "Just to make sure, as you said." He laughed nervously. "I'm sure you can imagine that your suggestion, even if it's totally out there, makes a guy a little nervous, right?"

Apparently, the doctor could relate. He picked up a syringe and a few vials from a drawer. Congratulating Sam on his veins, he drew blood and announced that the results would be in within ten hours and that Sam should check back either later in the day or the following morning. Sam immediately promised himself to never meet Dr. Rawlins again and to beat the password for computer access out of Dean's brain if necessary.

Five minutes later, he was blindly staring at said computer. He had his laptop and there was the promise to Dean that he'd do research, but his mind was blank.

* * *

As he made his way to Dr. Rawlins's office, Dean reflected that, especially after speaking to Jon, it sounded like classic trickster mischief. Unless Rawlins had more to reveal, no one had been seriously injured. The grandpa hair, the nighttime hijinks like rustling the bushes and playing touchy-feely in the dark... Most of the vics had been scared, yes, maybe they'd even need therapy, but no casualties. Most of the Winchesters' leads involved at least one death. Best if they could solve this case before it escalated. What trickster, though? The one they'd thought they knew of had revealed his true identity as the missing archangel Gabriel, and his agenda went a little deeper than practical jokes these days. Supposedly there were others, Loki being the most commonly thought-of name. They'd have to watch out for other signs.

The doctor who'd so creeped Sam out didn't alarm Dean at all. Other than he was always wary of people with real authority, the man was about Dean's age and general build with dark hair and eyes. After introductions and some small talk, Dean quickly rehashed the information Hostinson had given, what he'd gleaned from the medical records, and a few details from the interview with Mr. Cooper just minutes previous. 

Then he went for the jugular. "What is everyone not telling us? We know your town has had half a dozen men present with sudden hair color changes, and from what Cooper insinuated, the carpet matches the drapes," Dean flipped his eyebrows, "but what caused it? For a town of this size, that's a suspicious percentage, to say the least. Plus, there could be more who didn't consider it an emergency. Mr. Cooper had the feeling someone or something was touching him. Did any of the others report that, too? More importantly, if so, do you believe them?" 

Rawlins made the face Dean recognized as that of a person trying to decide whether they'd lie or not. He continued to press for an answer. "Doctor, please recall what agency I represent. Non-cooperation with the CDC can result in fines, sanctions and, and... a whole bunch of other shit I guarantee you won't like. We're not here to point fingers, but to help determine what's going on and prevent more of it. Whatever it is. No one wants an epidemic." Dean had to shrug over that. An epidemic of what? It wasn't like the Black Plague or typhus was going around. He waited. 

After a very long minute, Rawlins agreed that most of the others had also had the sensation of unwelcome touch, but had brushed it off as part of vivid nightmares. A psych eval had been included for all of the patients; the results included mild PTSD and depression, possible developing agoraphobia. The words, 'Paranoid schizophrenic... narcissistic personality disorder... religious psychosis' loomed in Dean's memory and he shoved them aside. He considered the Elko vics lucky to not have been labeled as top-shelf cuckoo. The shrinks here must not be so quick to judge, diagnose, whatever.

He followed up with, "Dr. Hostinson, who's Surgery and Internal, happened to be on call in the ER rotation for most of these patients, lucky her. When we interviewed her, she informed us she had you consult. You're a urologist – what exactly would lead her to your specialty? And don't tell me it's because you're male. I'm sure more than half the doctors here are men." Leaning forward, he played into the 'old boys' club' stereotype that Hostinson had not-so-subtly complained about. "The vics, I mean patients, are all dudes. Something they wouldn't want to share with a lady doc?" 

Dean didn't quite wink, he swore he didn't but Rawlins got the idea. His mouth twitched like he was suppressing a grin – or maybe disgust. "They're all, not just the one who admitted it, involuntarily climaxing in their sleep. One man's girlfriend was convinced that he was oversexed, another's wife seemed to take it as a sign he was cheating, but the patients all claimed an otherwise normal, monogamous sex life, other than one guy's not in a relationship at this time and another's dating casually." Rawlins hadn't developed a theory of why the sudden spike in sexual potency had occurred. 

The medical records had already noted no signs of severe, life-draining exhaustion or depletion such as what Dean would expect with a succubus, however he did ask Dr. Rawlins to confirm this with his observations, which he did. Finally, the urologist added, "To some degree, even in men, desire is cyclical. Body chemistry changes... Ebbs and flows, if you will." 

"Are you saying the patients were PMS-ing?" Dean snorted. No doubt his face empitomized dubious right then. Well, Sam certainly had days like that, but that was just Sam. Or so he'd always thought. 

"Maybe the opposite," Dr. Rawlins opined. "It's too much of a coincidence, but I'd say... At their most... receptive?" 

"Receptive to what?!" 

But the doctor just shrugged. Of course. Typical, Dean thought. A couple hundred thousand in student loans and useless. But it wasn't his fault since they were actually on the hunt for something paranormal, not medical. Smiling solicitously, Dean slid one of his – or Dr. Gilmour's – CDC cards across the desk with the usual parting comments to call if he thought of anything else. Finally he said, "I'm more than aware of confidentiality, but my, er, partner, Dr. Waters, he can be a closed-mouthed little bitch. I caught on that Hostinson sent him for a consult with you... Should I be expecting him to turn up with white hair in the next few days?" 

He got another shrug and and odd little smile. Dean didn't like that at all. "Come on. He's been pukey the last 48 hours. The man never gets sick. And, seems like he has to pee every ten minutes – now if that isn't your specialty, I don't know what is." As expected, though, Rawlins wouldn't tell him anything. Fine, a file under the name of Dr. Waters would be online within a day or two and then Dean would know. Feeling like he hadn't accomplished much, Dean stood to take his leave. Besides medical examiners, they usually didn't get much chance to speak to doctors, and he'd been expecting more, somehow. 

Deciding he needed a short break to compare notes, Dean headed back up to the office reserved for them. When he arrived, Sam was staring at the computer screen like he wasn't even seeing it. "Ready for my pie, Bitch," Dean announced. Sam didn't reply, or even acknowledge his presence. "Sam?" Still nothing. Dean crossed the room in a hurry and shook his shoulder. "What?" 

* * *

Sam hoped he didn't have to wait long until Dean returned. A part of him wished for that moment, but he also dreaded it: there was no way he could keep to himself what Dr. Rawlins had just implied. Of course, the good doctor had immediately dismissed his own suggestion, and Sam was sure that he'd only agreed to do the blood tests in order to humor him, most likely because of the power associated with the letters CDC.

Whereas Rawlins had done the right thing in urging Sam to see an expert to rule out or treat cancer, Sam's instincts told him that there were strong arguments pointing to the first non-diagnosis. He wasn't easily scared, but what man would remain calm and unflustered at the prospect of being _fucking pregnant?_ And from his own brother, who refused to speak about that night, when the trickster had turned him into a woman...

"Huh?" Dean's hand on his shoulder made Sam jump. How had he not noticed him returning before? 

"Dean..." Sam began. "We need to, um, talk." He took a deep breath. "And then we have to find Gabriel."

* * *

Sam jolted so hard his chair skittered sideways. Normally, Dean didn't do 'let's talk', with a nearly twenty-year habit of dodging such suggestions entirely. But whatever had been said or done during his consult with Rawlins had Sam so freaked out, eyes alternating between glazed and wild, that Dean's protective big brother instincts kicked in full force. He returned to the door to close it, then approached Sam's hunched-over form again. "What did that quack say to you? He'd better not have bad-touched you or so help me..." 

Sam's next statement took the wind out of Dean's sails; he plunked down in the remaining free chair, staring at his sibling. "Gabriel – are you fucking kidding me? What could you possibly want with that smug little punk-ass... archangel," he gritted out. Trickster or angel, he'd caught them in time loops twice, totally fucked with their heads. Especially Sam's, prior to Dean's crossroads deal coming due. He said hesitantly, "When we wanna talk to Castiel, I have to... pray to him." Dean was still uncomfortable with doing that, and that was Cas. Praying was too much like 'let's talk'. And he did not want to talk to Gabriel. No way. 

But maybe Sam's wigging out meant he'd figured out that their buddy Gabe was on the rampage again. Man, it was way too soon for another round of that. "What did he do, Sam?" Dean asked, resigned, as he massaged his temples. 

* * *

"It wasn't... He... not what he did..." Sam fought to breathe but it didn't seem to work too well. "Rawlins... He... There's a growth. That's why I always need to pee. And I think it was the trickster. I mean Gabriel. When we..."

The panic kept increasing and regardless of how much air Sam sucked in it wasn't enough. He knew he was hyperventilating but found himself unable to stop.

"Dean, we have to go find a pharmacy..." White dots began to take over his field of vision and he heard a weird buzzing noise. Was there a bee hive in the office? He'd been saying something to Dean, what was it? Right... When Sam opened his mouth again, he wasn't sure if his lips were moving; they felt numb and cold. "...buy a pregnancy test..."

The world turned gray.

* * *

Whatever had affected – or infected – Sam, he was delirious. The Sasquatch hyperventilating before his eyes was overlaid by his Dean's runty kid brother and Dean needed to fix his problem right _now_. "Sam... what...?" Dean hated little more than he did, feeling helpless, which he did in spades. 'Growth' suggested cancer or a tumor, but with Sam insisting the trickster-angel-whatever was involved, it could be any number of things. 

Then the dreaded words 'pregnancy test' fell from Sam's lips just before his eyes rolled back and he tipped sideways out of his chair, forcing Dean to move fast or watch his brother crash to the floor. Damn, he was heavy, nothing Dean couldn't handle but the dead weight bore them both to the floor, just more gradually than 'thud'. Dammit, why did this shit have to happen here? He hated hospitals.

"C'mon, Sammy, wake up." More to himself, Dean muttered, "Who did you knock up, anyway?" As far as he knew, Sam hadn't been laid since the Ruby debacle ended with the demon knife in her meat suit's guts. Oh wait, there'd been that coroner, but Sam had never actually copped to that. Lightly slapping Sam's face a couple times, Dean waited for him to wake up. Man, was he glad he'd closed the door. 

* * *

When the noise in his ears slowly abated, Sam found himself on the floor. The ground was moving and he thought of earthquakes before realizing that it was Dean shaking him, telling him to wake up. It made Sam want to laugh, but when Dean asked him who he'd knocked up, reality returned along with his consciousness.

"I didn't knock anyone up," Sam said, fighting the hysteria that was once again rising in him. "But it looks like you did. Me."

* * *

Dean blinked hard. Now the whirling vortex Sam must have experienced centered on him. Not that he'd have admitted it, but now he was hanging on to his brother, who was practically in his lap, as much for his own comfort as Sam's. "You're insane. And male. Right? With dangly bits. You can't be..." He was going to start babbling hysterically. Just, no. OK, say that night somehow happened, Dean had used protection. So what did the trickster do... Fly his sperm through the air and stick it up inside Sam's... parts he normally didn't have, did he?? ...After... after... Oh god. 

"This isn't happening. You're _not_ pregnant. I'm always telling you that you shouldn't drink so many gallons of water every day. Did you tell Rawlins about that, huh? Or all the coffee? So you have a pea-sized bladder... Ha! Pee! That's all. Still not pregnant." There wasn't really anything else Dean could say. Other than something about the mysterious 'growth', and he wasn't mentioning that either. So he pressed his lips closed, because he was starting to sound unhinged now, too. "Let's get out of here for a while and think this through, okay? Do more research. There has to be a logical explanation – for all of it."

That's when the stupid attraction started again. Taking a deep breath in preparation of heaving himself out from under two hundred pounds of dude and to his feet, Dean inhaled a mix of sweet-salt-musk that hardened and goose-bumped every part of him that could be in about three seconds, like he was 13 again. Before Sam noticed, Dean shoved him over and climbed upright. Fuck, upright. No shit. Old people sex! Shifter skin! Ecto! Rotting piles of witch-kill. Struggling to get his dick under control, Dean turned away and threw open the door. Yeah, he'd just clear the air... What the hell was wrong with him?

* * *

_Think this through... Research... Logical explanation_

Dean's words filtered through the chaos in Sam's head. It made him want to laugh again: usually, these would be Sam's suggestions whereas Dean often opted to go 'in' – wherever and whatever that meant – with guns blazing. 

But his brother was right. Panicking wouldn't get them anywhere. Of course, he couldn't be pregnant. He was a fucking male, and even though the trickster had turned him into a woman – or at least that's what he remembered – Sam had a man's body _now._ Just to make sure, he put his hand on his crotch – yeah, definitely male down there. Even hard – what the fuck? And again, why did Dean smell so damn good?

Dean scrambled to his feet and Sam followed. "Yeah, let's get out of here and try to figure out what's going on." He laughed without humor. "So, back to the motel?" Sam took a deep breath. "When... I asked you to speak with Rawlins, it wasn't about his fingers up my ass, as you can probably guess by now. But I still owe you that pie. Big time." He forced himself to smile.

* * *

As Sam's scent dissipated into the larger body of air mixing with that of 'their' office, it became easier to breathe, and think. Seeing his brother reach down and squeeze the sizable bulge, as if assuring himself it was there, didn't help much, though. Sam had huge hands, long fingers, and one of those didn't completely cover... Eyes up, Dean! "Yeah, pie." Always a good go-to. And a good excuse for the excess saliva. "Motel, with a quick stop at the diner." 

No one, or only a few people, knew them here. Dean made a beeline for the ER so they could go out the door they'd entered through that morning, closest to the car. A few doctors and nurses nodded to them but no one tried to stop them, for once. Sam was right there at his back, out of the corner of his eye, half a step behind. Sometimes they were so completely in tune. And other times, it was like the blind leading the blind. 

Once they arrived outdoors, Dean hustled them into the Impala and out of the parking lot. "What you said inside... I didn't ask Rawlins about where he put his fingers. Didn't wanna know – need brain bleach now. We discussed the case, well, the patients in his lingo. You might be interested to hear that some if not all of them either outright claimed or insinuated that someone or some _thing_ was touching them in their sleep. Sometimes making noises, whispering, stuff li-" 

He glanced at his brother, who was sitting there motionless, slumped, lax, zoned out like he was stoned but clearly not enjoying himself. And not paying attention, either. Pressing his lips into a thin line again, Dean cut his report off short until such time as Sam could concentrate on the words. A minute later, he had to crack the driver's side window down an inch – that fucking scent! Put Sam in an enclosed space and he diffused his personal brand of pheromone cocktail to the four corners in minutes. Dean was going to have to make Sam scrub himself with lavender or dill or something equally strong-smelling to mask it. 

On the way, among other things, they passed a drugstore, which brought to mind the whole pregnancy test... thing. Had Rawlins suggested it? Sam's eyes tracked the sign as they sped by, but he said nothing. Perhaps he'd seen the pregnancy 'diagnosis' for the malpractice-suit-waiting-to-happen that it was. 

After what seemed like a million years but was ten minutes at most, they arrived back at their motel. Dean made the executive decision to forgo the pie till they were both on a more even keel – if that was even possible. "Laptop," he reminded Sam just in case he spaced that out, too. Inside the room, Dean shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, pulled his shirt tails out and rolled up his sleeves. 

"Alright... Sit down before you fall over again. Twice in one day's enough. Case first, or your head-case?" He didn't want to talk, not about what Dean knew was eating away at Sam's over-thinking brain. Something told him avoidance was useless. In absence of his usual tactics of deny, deflect, and demerit, Dean was going to have to face the monster known as Sam's _feelings_ head on. He sat on the bed opposite Sam, dread tightening his guts. Well, at least his stupid boner had gone down.

* * *

Like a sleepwalker, Sam followed Dean to the Impala. As soon as they were on the road, Dean started telling him about his research, but even though Sam really tried, he couldn't focus on anything his brother said. The word 'pregnant' was resonating in his brain, burned into every single cell, taking him over. 

When they drove past a drugstore, Dean gave him a speculating look but didn't stop despite Sam's earlier urging they buy a pregnancy test. Right now, Sam was glad that Dean was ignoring that; he was sure he'd have puked if Dean had slowed down. His mind was screaming at him that this wasn't possible, there was no fucking way a guy could get pregnant, but Sam's guts told him that Rawlins' 'diagnosis' had been spot on. 

They were the Winchesters, after all, and weirder – and meaner – things had happened to them. So he was pregnant, carrying a child sired by his brother, what was the fucking story? Just another run-in with the trickster, or, in other words, a typical day in their lives. Which sucked, on some days more than on others, but they'd fight and come out – more or less – unscathed. As always.

Except, of course, that they'd have to deal with a newborn if they didn't manage to turn this in time. Sam bit his lip so hard that it bled when the term 'abortion' floated through his mind. Regardless of the implications of such a procedure, a male even thinking about the concept of having an abortion was, if anything, even more gross than being pregnant. It wasn't an option, of course. Even if he were desperate enough to consider it, there'd never be a doctor to actually do it. If anything, he'd be incarcerated, like a lab rat, and forced to give birth under the eyes of a bunch of mad scientists.

When Dean reminded him to not leave the laptop in the car, Sam almost jumped out of his pants. He'd been so absorbed that he hadn't noticed that they'd arrived at the motel. He followed Dean inside, again almost trance-like, and sat down on his bed when Dean told him to. To his surprise, Dean actually offered to talk – well, he gave Sam the choice to discuss the case or Sam, but it was an offer.

Sam knew there was no way around talking, but for probably the first time in his life he could relate to his brother's usual stout refusal to address a personal – intimate – topic.

"What about the pie I owe you?" he attempted to stall the inevitable talk.

* * *

"Later," Dean said firmly. "Neither of us would appreciate it like it should be, not now. Unless you're having a craving...?" Oh, he shouldn't have said that – it reminded him that pregnant women craved strange food combinations. Women, not men! Sam's eyebrows rose but Dean cut him off before he could answer. "We need to get you sorted first. For one thing, you need a second opinion if this really is a medical condition." 

The next question gave away that he too was starting to believe at least the possibility. Of... something, not necessarily what Sam was apparently more willing to accept, being wrong. Dean looked down, studying the carpet. "So, uh, can you feel anything? Like a lump? Or," he whispered, "movements?"

* * *

If Sam had thought he'd settled down enough to be able to talk with Dean, he got proven wrong when Dean mentioned 'movements.' A choking sound escaped from his mouth before he could prevent it. "No, I'm good," he held up a hand, "just need a sec." 

This time, Sam succeeded in swallowing down the rising panic. "Need a sec," he repeated, "and, big surprise, a pee. Be right back."

He didn't wait for Dean's approval as he withdrew to the bathroom. Although it felt as if his bladder was on the verge of exploding, Sam was frustrated to see that he only rid himself of what looked like less than the content of a shot glass. Still, the relieved pressure made him immediately feel a little better. Splashing cold water on his face helped even more, and when he returned to their room, Sam knew that he could now handle whatever was going to happen.

"So," he said, not meeting Dean's eyes. They needed to talk, but it would be easier for his brother if Sam didn't force them to look at each other. 

"So, you, um, may have noticed that I've been peeing a lot lately." Once he'd started, Sam found it surprisingly easy to speak. "There've been other things, too. Less subtle things, maybe, but something weird has been going on with my body. I'm totally oversensitive to smells, for one. And I can't seem to get enough sugar into me. I mean, I've always liked my coffee sweet, but now I'm actually craving pie. Then, there's, uh, my, um, nipples feel sore all the time, even my softest shirts are chafing, and they're like, stiff all the time. And, I've had..." 

Okay, this wasn't going to go down well. "Uuh, I've had... I have... _other_ cravings as well..." Sam shut his mouth and focused on the bedspread.

* * *

The last word got a reaction: Sam flinched and if Dean hadn't known better, he'd have said Sam was hacking on a hairball. Then he swallowed several times like he was about to throw up but when he disappeared into the bathroom it was only to piss. Again. 

Once he returned, looking slightly calmer, Sam matter-of-factly listed his symptoms: frequent urination, sensitivity to smell, sore nipples, craving sugar and sweets. Dean could have added nausea – morning sickness? – and mood swings, but before he could put in his two cents, Sam moved on to, as he put it, other cravings. The look on his face said it all. Majorly uncomfortable, freaked, maybe even scared, but horny. Sam's eyes seemed to slant more and his lips puffed up when he was turned on. He still wore his jacket so Dean couldn't see but his nipples must be stiff right now. 

"Cravings," Dean repeated after a long pause. "Like... You, uh. Sex. You need... some." Dean had teased his brother, rubbed it in his face, hell, harassed the crap out of him for twenty years about which of them was more sexually high-strung. Faced with a forthright Sam admitting to needing it pretty much rendered Dean speechless. "You want me to leave?" 

* * *

"No," Sam whispered with burning cheeks. "Don't leave. I didn't bring... _that_ up in order to act on it. 'M only trying to explain... what cannot be explained. I know it's wrong and I don't want to feel like this, but I'm not lusting after some chick. My cravings are... for you."

* * *

The silence was louder than any yelled diatribe Dean could have burst into, which seemed to be what Sam expected. Loud... and huge, growing longer with every second he said nothing. Under any other circumstance, someone announcing being attracted to Dean would have been met by some cocky version of, "Well of course you are, duh!" 

This... Dean wasn't convinced it really was attraction. It seemed to be beyond Sam's control – he used the word 'cravings', something chemically- or hormonally-induced. "Um... Just so you know," Dean chanced a darting look at his brother, whose head was bowed enough so he couldn't see much of his face, but what showed from under the shaggy hair was beet red. "It's affecting me, too. Your freaky pheromones carry everywhere, and they – you – smell so good all the time, like candy and salty and male and sweaty and ready and I just wanna wallow in it. I keep popping wood every ten minutes." Talk about your true confessions. Too late to take it back now. "About as often as you gotta pee," he added, desperate to break the sexual tension, which even someone as asexual as Cas could've picked up on. 

Fantasy was one thing. Acting on it, quite another. Sam couldn't help it, odd situation though it was. Dean knew better. He needed to help his brother get through this, somehow. Sam didn't want him to leave him to take care of it alone, he'd said so. "Maybe we should, I dunno, put ointment on your nipples...?" Now Dean's face was flaming, too. "Since they're sore. That's what you said. 'Sore and chafing'. Er. That's gotta suck." 

* * *

Sam had been expecting any kind of reply, really, _any,_ except for the one he actually got. He opened his mouth and immediately closed it again, doing his best fish-out-of-water impression. It wasn't often that he was speechless, but Dean's confession had really and utterly floored him. The mental image of his brother getting a boner every time Sam went for a pee didn't help – unless Dean was implying that the thought of Sam peeing actually turned him on, in which case he'd need serious brain bleach for the rest of his life.

Thank goodness, Dean had himself back under control – kind of – a minute later and switched to problem-solving mode. That was usually Sam's forte, but he had to admit that he felt rather useless at the moment. So it was that he really appreciated Dean's suggestion of ointment for his sore nipples. 

What he didn't appreciate, however, was the hot flash of arousal that came with the image of Dean rubbing cream on his highly-sensitized nubs. His eyes rolled back in his head and a deep moan left his mouth before he could tamp down on his reaction. Fuck, if Dean looked closely, Sam was sure his dick had left a decent-sized wet patch on his... what the...? 

A wet patch on his fucking _shirt?_ So yes, he knew he was big, but why had his dick chosen this particular moment to extend beyond the waistband of his jeans... unless it wanted to get him in trouble with Dean, of course. And didn't said waistband rub deliciously against his crown? Sam moaned again. As it if couldn't get any worse, his nostrils, which were already flaring with Dean's scent, caught a whiff of his own pre-cum. He could only hope that this wasn't what his brother associated with 'candy and salty and male and sweaty and ready'!

Then again, Sam found himself fervently wishing that this scent was exactly what drove Dean crazy with lust, to the point where Dean couldn't help himself and jumped Sam's bones...

"Fuck," he exclaimed. "As much as I'd like to numb them up, I also, um, kinda enjoy having them touched, so... maybe ointment isn't the best idea right now, but thanks for the suggestion." Sam forced himself to smile. "I hope there are more ideas where that came from."

* * *

A low moan rolled out from Sam, thunder on a distant horizon. Dean's attention snapped to his face, sure Sam was in pain. His mouth hung open, panting, his head thrown back now, sharp cheekbones and point of his Adam's apple on full display. Not sure what was going on, Dean did a quick visual assessment, stopping when his eyes fixated on the – holy shit – thick, long ridge behind Sam's fly, not covered by three layers of long shirts. Damn, his brother had to be packing a Mega-schlong, because what had to be the head of it made a little bulge of its own under the bottom of his shirt. Dean wasn't positive because the shirt was white, but it looked like a damp spot had formed over it, as if Sam had leaked fluid in a state of helpless arousal. 

Once again, Dean forced his gaze away and swallowed the saliva flooding his mouth. Yeah, he could smell it, years of life on the road with his brother meant he knew every scent of his body, only this was stronger than usual, more potent. Glad he'd pulled his shirt tails out, Dean ignored the throbbing in his pants. Movement would just give it friction, which was the last thing he needed. "Well, um, you might be right, not sure if that stuff is really made for nipples. Wouldn't want to irritate them further. Maybe just warm water or something. A compress or shower." A shower would also allow Sam to take care of his erection and slough off yet another layer of pheromones. "Some Japanese girls put Band-Aids over their nipples so they don't stick up under their clothes. You could try that." Dean grinned, and hoped Sam understood the tongue-in-cheek nature of his last suggestion, and the sideways reference to his favorite porn site. 

They could talk about symptoms all day, but that resolved nothing. Besides Sam's issue, they still had a case to solve. It would be next to impossible to work until they at least knew what was happening to Sam, Dean had to admit. Between a possible _male_ pregnancy and constant horniness, it was a wonder they'd done anything besides sit around drooling from both ends with their thumbs up their asses. "The trickster... He can bend reality, manipulate people, places, maybe your body. Remember how he fucked with us at the Mystery Spot? This has to be a joke. If it's real, he can... fix it. But, Sam..." Dean hated how plaintive he sounded. "Not saying you're... you know. But if you are, what will you do?"

* * *

"A warm shower may help relax my nipples," Sam acknowledged, but the thought made him squirm at the same time: given that he and Dean shared rooms all the time, Sam could only tend to his sexual needs when Dean was out getting laid or in the shower. The latter was sometimes even used by them as a euphemism for getting off. "However, given the, um, _other_ circumstances, cold showers are probably in order. Not that they'd help with my nipples," he added darkly.

Then, the next question floored him again. Although Dean emphasized that he didn't say that Sam was... no, actually, he couldn't bring himself to say the word, but he asked Sam what he'd do if he was – okay, Sam couldn't even _think_ the word without flinching – pregnant. He winced.

"I have absolutely no idea," Sam said. "Clueless. Blank slate. All I can think right now is an endless loop of 'this isn't happening, this isn't happening.' It's... man, we've seen some weird shit, but this... Dean... it's got to be a hallucination. Or I'm losing my mind. Please, Dean," the panic was creeping up on him again, "please tell me that I just woke up from a bad dream. I can't be pregnant, right? Right?"

* * *

So often Sam had been the voice of caution, of restraint, of reason. Right now, Dean could see his brother was close to losing it, of his mind cracking – for real. It was down to him to keep Sam at least functioning, going through the motions. Switching beds, Dean sat next to him without touching. "No, you're right, there's no way. You can't be pregnant. Dunno why I even said that." Dean – neither of them – should not be entertaining that idea at all. Why Sam didn't just laugh it off, he could only attribute to whatever Rawlins had told him during their consult. 

"There's gotta be some explanation we just haven't thought of yet," Dean continued. "Rawlins is a doctor, he wouldn't know anything about hunting or monsters or anything like that. He'd explain... it... the best way he knew how," the irony of he was doing the same thing wasn't lost on Dean. "We know it could be things he's never heard of, for you and all those vics we came here about." 

Patting Sam's shoulder, Dean offered, "Tell you what: I'll run across the road for pie and milkshakes. Hot or cold shower, your choice – take one while I'm gone. This time of day with hard ice cream, I'm sure it'll be a good 15 minutes. You know I'm no fan of cold, but that's your call." Hot shower meant Sam would stroke himself off; cold meant freezing his genitals into submission, or knowing Sam's OCD tendencies, hibernation. The former with its accompanying white-hot imagery had Dean harder than ever. They could do with some time alone. "You'll be okay for a few minutes...?"

* * *

"This is so not happening," Sam repeated, but he calmed down somewhat, especially when Dean touched his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, not a sexual one, regardless of what Sam's dick was suggesting, and Sam leaned into it for a second before sitting up straighter than before.

"Thanks," he said in a rough voice. "Yeah, I'll be... not good but okay." He smiled dryly. "I don't want you to leave but I suppose it's better for the both of us." Sam didn't exactly doubt that Dean would take care of his needs in the diner's restroom while Sam was in the shower.

"Um, do you mind another quick detour perhaps? It's for your own good," he remarked dryly. "I need you to go to the nearest drugstore: I figure a strong antiperspirant is called for. If I can't do anything about my weird moods, at least that could help with the smells. Grab a large spray can, will you?"

By now, Sam felt settled enough to crack a joke, even if it was a bad one. "I'll let you spray me if you're good," he offered with a wink.

* * *

_I'll let you spray me... let you spray me... let you spray me..._ The phrase got stuck in a loop in Sam's voice, half-mocking, half-seductive, in Dean's brain. Disturbing mental imagery to match spiraled out of control. First, the possible intent, Sam shirtless with his arms raised, flexed overhead with his biceps bulging, that stupid-thick dark hair in his pits taunting Dean, who'd never told anyone about his armpit kink. _...spray me..._ The scene quickly devolved to a totally naked Sam gleaming and wet in the shower. Dean was there, too, just as nude; he took his dick in hand, aimed, and shot a long slice of piss all over the tight torso, disturbing the hairs on Sam's chest and lower. Moaning, Sam humped his own hand; who knew his uptight brother could move his hips like that? His nipples stood up in painful points and Dean _sprayed_ one then the other... 

Faster and faster, his own libido assaulted him once Dean switched to spraying cum. Cream smeared on Sam's round, narrow little ass; white ropes of jizz up his back to decorate the textbook musculature; inside, so far up inside they'd both taste it; on his face like porn, pooling in the crease beside his nose, dripping from his lashes, lips crossed with sticky streaks while Sam bade Dean to give him every single drop _...spray me..._

Fuck! The only thing Dean was going to spray was the inside of his underwear. His balls tightened alarmingly. In that panicked moment where every option leads to worse, he slammed the heel of his hand down into his crotch, gritting his teeth. It fucking hurt like a bitch, but it saved him the humiliation of creaming his pants in front of his brother. "Jesus, Sam, don't say shit like that!" 

His eyes probably crossed with the pain. Dean took a few deep breaths. Good, he could stand now without embarrassing himself. There'd be hell to pay later, when the pain of the nut-crushing faded back to that of unshed seed. By then, he'd find somewhere to take care of it. Fumbling for his keys, Dean ruffled Sam's hair, which he knew his brother hated. So silky, the strands long as a girl's... "Okay, leaving now. Be back soon with your... Stuff." 

Wrong word, right concept. Dean fled. 

Once outside, it was a little better when he wasn't forced to snort Sam's pheromones like some yuppie with a gram of coke and a rolled hundred-dollar bill up his nose. What the hell had just happened? Fantasizing about pissing and cumming on Sam – despite the intense attraction starting with that night they didn't talk about or maybe before but he wasn't going there, Dean felt ashamed for turning Sam into a sex object in his mind, more or less. The really confusing part was that Sam had been male for the duration, not whatever it was he'd temporarily become... then, himself but with female parts below and man (woman!), he'd even had a nice firm rack. If Dean ever had the misfortune of being gender-swapped for a night, he'd probably wind up with huge, floppy triple-G sized boobs just for spite.

Berating himself into motion, Dean decided to get the errand at the drugstore out of the way first. The midday sun had made Baby's interior too warm. He rolled the window down; wasn't much of a breeze, but the short drive wicked some of the sweat off his face. Inside the store, Dean found a large can of aerosol antiperspirant, just as Sam had requested. To use such a product was unlike his environmentally-conscious, tree-hugging brother. But then, he couldn't go around drenched in cologne or Dean's bodily fluids or... Wait, what?! 

As a distraction, Dean found the feminine hygiene aisle, a scary place if there ever was one. At the end, he found a selection of home pregnancy tests. He must have hemmed and hawed in front of the display for ten minutes, but at last found himself picking one. Then another. And one more, just in case. Wouldn't you know it, it seemed that every woman who walked by was out-to-here pregnant. What were they even doing in this aisle? Then, ironically, Dean grabbed a box of condoms as well. Whatever was going on with Sam, he wasn't going to lapse now. 

At the front counter, Dean ignored the raised eyebrows and did what he always did, flirted with the clerk. This one, well just say the old prune probably hadn't been laid in a decade and turned bright red when he flashed his teeth and laid the, "thanks sweetheart" on thick. Other than the antiperspirant, he stashed his purchases and headed to the diner. Beyond having to decide between far too many kinds of homemade pie, that stop was uneventful. Dean walked out with the two large to-go cups full of chocolate milkshake and a whole cherry pie cut into eight wedges in a white cardboard box. He even remembered to ask for forks. 

Pulling up in front of the door, Dean belatedly recalled what he should have been doing while he waited for the shakes, rather than gawking at the waitress's ass as she bent over the freezer scooping ice cream. Sam would have been a good boy and dealt with his hard-on – fuck! The size of that thing! Dean was borderline jealous. Or maybe not. He wanted his sex to be remembered as pleasurable, not painful, and he'd have worried about hurting women if... Maybe that was why Sam deprived himself, he'd never thought of it that way before. Then he was deeply sorry for his brother, if his revelation proved to be true. Jess made sense – she had stood almost as tall as Dean in her bare feet. Madison was tiny, but also a werewolf. Ruby – urgh! – demon, meatsuit, double urgh! 

That thought took care of any worries about inappropriate boners – which was becoming a theme lately – in the next few minutes. Dean unlocked the door to the room and stepped inside over the fresh salt line, eyes taking a second to adjust to the darker interior. The curtains were shut, typical. "Got the pie, Sam," he announced. 

* * *

Dean wasn't usually easy to read, but his reaction to Sam's lame joke was impossible to miss, especially when he slammed his hand on his crotch and told Sam to shut up. Sam had already shut up, but he still felt a little guilty for causing the pain on his brother's face when heel hit balls.

When Dean had fled from the room, Sam was left with _your... stuff_ reverberating in his head. 'Stuff' was what Dean had jokingly named Sam's jizz when they'd been teens and Sam's body had produced a seemingly endless amount of it. Now, the memory of him and Dean sharing a hurried handjob...

He coughed. As if he needed to be reminded of lusting after his brother. And he'd better take care of his not-so-little problem down there before Dean returned. Cold water would not help for long, so Sam opted for the solution he'd already picked the night before, but he vowed to be more thorough this time.

Once he stood under the hot spray, Sam stroked himself firmly with both hands. Watching the purple crown slip in and out between his fingers as he smoothed his foreskin up and down while massaging the shaft firmly with his other hand, he thought distractedly how well his hands fit the size of his dick. Then his mind provided the thought how it would look – and feel! – like to have Dean's hands working him, and he knew he'd reach the point of no return within seconds. 

He came hard, moaning and wailing his release loudly, wondering what his brother sounded like in the throes of his passion. Despite being oversensitive, his dick reacted to the thought, and Sam decided to continue. Maybe if he made himself cum again his refractory period would outlast an hour with Dean...

Pouring some conditioner – a substance Sam wouldn't leave home without, regardless of how much Dean wound him up about – on his fingers, he palpated along his taint until he found his hidden entrance. Sam rarely fingered himself down there, mostly for lack of privacy, but it would get him off spectacularly. He wasn't sure if he could achieve a second orgasm so quickly after the first, but if he could, this was the way to go.

He leaned against the corner of the shower stall to ensure he wouldn't slip and fall, then he pushed two fingers into his body, aiming for the bundle of nerves that would make him see stars. White heat flashed before his eyes when he hit ground zero, and his dick immediately got the message. As much as he'd have loved to play it out, he didn't know how much time he had, and the last thing he wanted was to have Dean walk in on him – no, strike that: Dean walking in on him was _exactly_ what Sam wished for in this moment. 

He closed his eyes. Dean would look at him and let out a needy growl before undressing and joining Sam in the shower. Dean would already be hard and wet with pre-cum, and since Sam was open and slick with the conditioner, Dean would wordlessly make him face the wall and slide inside Sam's body, spearing him wide, and immediately set up a steady rhythm.

Throwing his head back, Sam could almost feel Dean moving inside him, and his balls began their renewed upward crawl. He massaged them down a little to delay the inevitable, aware that it wouldn't last long, even though he wasn't rubbing his erection, only circling the frenulum, the small region where nerve cells converged under thin skin. Together with the counterpoint of his fingertips on his prostate, he felt a heat in his belly that made him want to scream out loud with pleasure. 

A few seconds later, he couldn't hold the scream back as fountains of white erupted from him, spraying – _spraying!_ – the shower wall... 

Sam had barely caught his breath, and still it wasn't enough! He bit his lower lip and resumed stroking his half-mast and protesting dick hard and digging his fingers into the now oversensitive inner gland until he managed to squeeze another few drops of milky fluid from his burning testicles. He didn't enjoy it; quite the opposite, it actually hurt, but when he was washing himself thoroughly afterward, his shaking knees along with the rest of his body suggested that it may be a while before he'd 'crave' again.

He'd mostly finished drying off just in time to Dean's return, and broke into a smile when another kind of craving was triggered by the announcement of pie. The smile froze, however, when he realized that he'd forgotten to take clean clothes to the bathroom. Even worse: he'd undressed in the motel room and left even his dirty underwear on the bed, so there was no way to avoid meeting his brother naked.

Sam slung a towel around his hips and stepped out of the bathroom.

* * *

Hm, no Sam. Then Dean noticed the bathroom door was still closed. That meant either Sam was taking his own sweet time or something was wrong. Moving further into the room, Dean set his purchases down on the faux-wood laminate-covered round table in the corner. As he walked by the bed again – Sam's, the closer to the bathroom – he noticed a pile of familiar discarded clothes strewn over the edge of it. His eyes grew huge. Light blue boxer briefs, which after so many years he'd have thought his brother would have learned his lesson about, were tossed on top. 

Yes, he looked. On purpose. Dean saw exactly what he knew he would, that the front pouch was all bunged out from stretching over Sam's junk and damp, the darker blue there a dead give-away. The scent of male musk hit him worse than before; Dean doubled over as every red blood cell in his body infiltrated his groin. "No... Not again," he groaned, reaching down to adjust his strangled dick. 

Already his erection had stiffened painfully, too solid to move to a comfortable angle. It and his balls inflated, threatening to burst his zipper. There, the moment of panic, just like twenty minutes ago: hurt himself and maybe his clothes, or whip it out and take a chance Sam would stay in the bathroom for two more minutes while Dean finished himself off.

The second his dick jumped into his hand, while Dean moaned like a needy whore and stoked himself once, twice, Sam strolled out of the bathroom in nothing but a white towel. A cloud of steam rolled around him. A few water droplets dripped down his pecs from the long ends of his hair. Try as he might not to, Dean could still make out the deep flush – sex-flush – over Sam's entire chest and the lump of his genitals under the towel. Just as he'd imagined before, the mauve-brown nubs on Sam's chest stuck out like pencil erasers, tight with cold or arousal or both. And then, miles and miles of skin, most smooth, some with hair, scars, the stark black of his tattoo... He wanted it, all of it, to lick and bite and kiss...

"Fuck!" Dean swore and turned his back. Despite being utterly busted, he tried to stuff the traitor attached to his crotch back into his pants. There was no hope. He was leaking, too, in little spurts. The palm of his right hand was lubed with pre-cum and it was getting everywhere. "Sorry, Sam, sorry... I shoulda, at the diner or..." 

Well, dammit, Dean was no blushing teenager. He was a man and men had needs. Plus, they'd already talked about how whatever was going on with Sam had them both on red alert. "Whatareyahgonnado, right?" Dean shrugged. Masturbation was a natural thing, but he didn't have to put on a show. He shouldered past Sam on the way to the bathroom with both hands cupped over his erection and hoped he could get the door closed before he busted a nut. 

* * *

When Sam left the bathroom he had no idea he'd be walking right into the fire: that was the only word that sprang to his mind at the heat caused by the image of Dean with his hand stuffed in his pants. And that groan... It reminded him of...

_Dean moved and his butt bumped against Sam's boner, causing them both to groan. It was neither boy's fault: Sam was thirteen and thus always hard, and so was seventeen-year-old Dean. The bed in the dump-of-the-week was only three feet wide, making it impossible to_ not _accidentally rub up against each other all the time. There was the couch, but that was Dad's – as soon as he returned from 'work' – so the brothers gave it a wide berth. The toilet was in the hall and not exactly inviting to stroke off in there, not even for a horny and desperate teen._

_Thus, one night, Dean had suggested they both 'do it' at the same time, which would make it less embarrassing. Sam had readily agreed: it was a perfectly logical solution and an equally perfect cover-up for the way Dean turned him on. In the beginning, it had been curiosity, he simply wanted to know what his brother was bragging about all the time, and he also wanted to see that miracle organ. After his first visual exposure, he'd started envying the girls that were lucky enough to be allowed to touch it and pleasure Dean, and now he actually got to watch Dean bringing himself off!_

_They'd stayed at the rotten place longer than intended, and one night, Sam had gathered all his courage and asked in a voice that he hoped was casual although it came out all squeaky and girly with nervousness, "You want me to lend a hand?"_

In the present, Dean swore, which was immediately followed by an apology that Sam dismissed equally immediately. He should feel bad for this, but he'd fantasized over Dean doing himself for a long time – since his teenage years, if he was honest. Now he had not only an image of his grown-up brother, but also the accompanying soundtrack. 

It was a huge mistake – make that a ginormous mistake! – but Sam couldn't help himself. When Dean tried to rush past him into the bathroom, Sam stopped him with a hand on his hip.

"D'you want me to lend a hand?"

* * *

Like a voice out of the past, Sam's question slammed into Dean like a physical blow that further tightened his balls. Now a mellow tenor deepening toward baritone, it lacked the scratchy rawness of a kid whose voice had recently changed. Back in the day, rather than all the failed attempts hiding teenaged libidos' near-constant need to get off made worse by the warmth and closeness of sharing a bed, Dean had finally taken matters into his own hands – so to speak – and risked his brother freaking out when he suggested they just 'do it' simultaneously, in full knowledge. The inevitable taken care of without pretense, they could at least get some sleep. Sam had latched on to the idea and though it was still a little weird, even under cover and in the dark, it made things so much easier. Then, they could bring necessary tissues or washcloths in preparation, rather than soaking the sheets or their clothes with drizzle and spunk. In that, they certainly were related. Dean often felt like he pumped out gallons when he came. Of course the spurts 'only' amounted to a handful. He'd read somewhere the average man shot a teaspoon to a tablespoon; he and Sam produced loads more jizz, and Sam sometimes leaked like a faucet before. 

That had all been fine till one night Dean finished first and Sam, who'd been lazily stroking himself and playing his foreskin up and back over the flared ridge of the glans, asked in his cracking adolescent voice if Dean would 'lend a hand'. He used the same words now, only he had just offered his services. As teens, they'd done that a few times, too. Always, always, another person's hand excited Dean so much more than his own. Sam's _hand_ gripped his hip just hard enough to stop Dean's escape to the bathroom, but he could have broken away if he wanted. He didn't. He couldn't. He needed, so bad. Echoing the thought, his pelvis jabbed forward seeking heat and friction while his back hit the wall. Without thinking, Dean pushed his suit pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. A glance down told Dean his dick was purple, nearly upright, wet from slit to corona, every vein raised and throbbing, his sac pulling upward full to bursting with a killer load. 

God help him, he was moaning again from deep in his chest, unable to shut up. Sam inspected him, it seemed, and found him worthy and acceptable or something. Then he reached out. That huge hand curled around the most sensitive part of him and tugged. No, rubbed. Dean was lost – one stroke and he was already shaking, about to cum. Dean thrust into the tight grip and hissed, "Yes, Sammy...! Please, please make me cum!" 

* * *

This was a moment that had the potential to change their relationship forever. Whether it would be for better or for worse, Sam had no idea. If it turned toward worse, Sam thought they could always blame the utterly crazy situation for it, which might help save their sanity. If men could get pregnant, a handjob between brothers surely didn't count for much, right?

Besides the rationale, there was simply no way Sam could pull away now. It hit him with full force how much he'd _wanted_ Dean these past few days. His dick, exhausted, gave a feeble twitch, but it made him even more determined to pour everything he had into making this good for Dean, his brother, who was about to become his lover. The thought made Sam's breathing hitch, and his hand pitched forward, seemingly even before his brain could issue the command to do so.

Dean didn't even pretend to resist. Sam had barely gripped his hip when Dean was already leaning back against the wall with his pants and boxers pushed down to knee-level, begging Sam to make him cum.

If Sam's balls would have had anything left to give, they'd have spurted the very second his hand wrapped around Dean's shaft, weighing the steely hardness under velvet-smooth skin for a second before offering a first tentative stroke that he quickly followed up with firmer and less self-conscious ones. Dean didn't hold back and thrust into the circle of Sam's thumb and forefinger. Assured that he was doing the right thing, Sam tightened his grip and pulled, stroked, rubbed with single-minded determination to make this the best sex Dean had ever had.

He knew he wouldn't be able to shoot again in the near future, but Sam felt a sudden urge rising in his mind and body. He bit his lip as he continued to pleasure his brother, but what he was about to ask bore the risk of destroying everything, even more than bringing him off. Still, Sam couldn't fight his desperate need and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Dean, please," Sam blurted, "will you kiss me?"

* * *

Everything focused, tightened; work, the town of Elko and their fugly motel room all melted away. Breathless, Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and he let himself feel, just feel the perfect squeeze and stroke Sam used, maybe the same as he used on himself. Every pull toward the head brought another blurt of slick. Almost there, so close, Dean took in every slip-slap sound, the sweaty scent of his own need, the incredible soaring feeling his brother's loving attention to his body. It was like Sam had been doing this his whole life, like years of practice had taught him the speed and grip, that little wrist-twist to drive Dean to the edge then make him hang there.

The tang of approaching orgasm in the back of his throat, Dean rode Sam's fist frantically. His butt muscles or abs or both were going to cramp from the awkward angle soon. He could tell Sam wanted to ask something of him, some favor. The keen interest in the angular face hovering close just above his told Dean that whatever it was Sam would ask it of no one else. Warm, minty breath feathered across his face and into his ear, making Dean shudder and gasp and shudder some more. 

When it came, his ears were buzzing and his balls sweetly hurting, just about to break – the murmured request when it fell from Sam's lips shocked Dean to the core. _Kiss me,_ he wanted Dean to kiss him – more intimate than sex with a hell of a lot more skill needed to get that right. Women had complained to Dean most of his adult life about how many dudes didn't like it. Dean fucking loved it, nearly as much as sex itself, which might be one reason chicks dug him so much. That Sam – male Sam – would want that with him sent a hot wave of fresh lust through Dean, raging animalistic on one hand but on the other, a radiant, shining pure star of affection and love overcame him. 

"Yeah, I'll kiss you, Sam..." Pushing away from the wall, he wrapped an arm around Sam's back, used the other to cradle the back of his neck, fingers threading up into long hair. Dean tilted his head back, licked his lips. "I... I want you, too. Like I was starving for it. Like we used to do. More. Want you now. Kiss me back..." 

Dean kept his sluggish eyes on the overbright hazel-green-blue of Sam's ever-changing irises and closed the gap. The first kiss was just a smack, a test to make sure Sam wouldn't pull away. He didn't. Those pink lips caressed like satin, better than any chick's. Dean whined like a little bitch for more, not caring what he sounded like, crossing his tingling lips with Sam's, sliding his tongue into the hot cavern behind his teeth and sucking. Sam dove into it, which made Dean's stomach pitch like a plummeting elevator. He hadn't stopped fucking his brother's hand, couldn't. He fucked his mouth, licking over every feature he could before...

"NnnnnnNnngg, Sammmmmm..." Dean thrust forcefully a few last times, and the dam crumbled. He cried out wordlessly into his brother's mouth as he spurted against Sam's belly. _Spray me..._ They kept kissing, he kept cumming, emptying himself of his essence. The communion words he'd heard recited by Pastor Jim, blasphemous in this context, stuck in his head. Dean said them anyway between kisses as he anointed his brother in his seed. "This... my body... broken... given for you. All for you," he whispered as a last white drip torturously emerged. Sam could smack him if that was over the top. As far as he was concerned, this was holier than anything most people did in a church.

At the moment, Dean was high, filled with endorphins and afterglow, limp in Sam's arms. His eyes were wet from the intense release. Only one thing missing – Sam wasn't hard. Either he'd made himself cum till he was shooting dust earlier, or it had been just a form of pity-fuck. Never had Dean been on the receiving end of such. His breathing slowed. "But... What about you?"

* * *

It was like being in a dream, only even in his dreams Sam had always been somehow aware that he was dreaming, whereas this felt real though it couldn't be. Dean's erection in his hand was hot, and every stroke and twist Sam gave it made his brother moan and gasp. 

Sam's belly was on fire, too, only his dick was so wrung out from earlier that all it did was twitch tiredly. It didn't matter, though, as this was about Dean and Sam took his pleasure from watching and listening, then smelling and tasting Dean when they began to kiss. 

They'd brought each other off as teens, but they'd never kissed back then. Dean had it declared as 'too intimate', which Sam had interpreted as unmanly, but now he realized that he must have misunderstood it: Sam had kissed before, not many women and never a guy, but what he got now was the exact opposite of unmanly. Dean attacked his mouth as if he was starving and only invading and licking, exploring every square millimeter of Sam's tongue, his teeth, gums, palate would keep him alive. 

It was the utmost turn-on for Sam, even if his dick didn't respond, his heart and brain were close to melting with lust and love. He tightened his hand on Dean's raging member when he felt it swell up. Impossible sounds escaped from Dean's mouth as his body stiffened, and then Sam felt each gushing pulse that made his brother shake. It went on forever, and Sam held on to Dean, taking over more of his body weight when the trembling indicated that Dean's knees would soon no longer manage to keep him upright.

Eventually, Dean went limp like a rag doll between Sam and the wall, and Sam carefully maneuvered them over to the nearest bed and laid his brother down. Dean was still twitching with the aftershocks, but already his concern turned toward Sam, who didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Dean," Sam said hoarsely, "I... can't right now. The shower I had... let's just say I took care of things maybe a little bit too well. Don't worry, though," he grimaced. "Experience tells me this will at most last a couple of hours."

Dean's eyes were wet and wide open, making Sam think that he could look straight into his brother's soul. "I," Sam began very quietly, not sure if he should admit this, but it was such a rare moment and regardless of what their future held, he needed Dean to know.

"I've been thinking of you while I... did myself. Wondering how it'd be to make you cum. How you'd sound and how much I wanted to watch. I... Thank you for letting me do this for you. With you. For letting me love you." His voice faltered.

* * *

Somewhere between Dean's last sperm cell being ejected from his body and him uttering the question of returning the favor, Sam had carried him to the bed, laid him down, and continued to hold him. This was opposite of how it was supposed to go. Sam was the little brother and they had been going around like a couple of chumps about how something was wrong with him. Dean should be holding and comforting Sam, if one of them was doing that. Without really comprehending, he mulled over how his brother wouldn't be just as desperate to get off as he'd been just minutes ago. Oh. So he'd been... thorough. Dean blurted the first thing that popped into his mind. "How many times, Sammy?"

Wiggling onto his side, he plucked at the towel around Sam's waist and wiped at the mess he'd made on the warm skin overlaying Sam's chiseled torso. "I tried not to, but I've thinking about you, too. When we were kids and... You know. Only, I... I ain't gay but maybe I am for you. For how you love me." Ducking his head, Dean honed in one of the taut, upright nipples Sam had said hurt him. They were still pulled into tight little nubs after how many orgasms. Sam's furnace-like body temp and fresh sweat said he wasn't cold. Flicking his tongue out to sample, Dean licked the salty, slightly oily taste from the areolar tissue.

* * *

Still stoned from the afterglow, Dean asked how many times Sam had cum, which made Sam laugh with delight. The question was so typical for his brother, a mixture of concern, envy for not having been there to watch, and also a hint of what could be interpreted as competition.

"I made it to shooting two times, and then some dribbling. That makes it..." Sam twisted his face into a frown as if he were thinking hard, "two point four six nine, I guess."

His joke was lost on Dean, however, and Sam's mind went one-way-street as he listened to what his brother had to say. So Dean had wanted the same for all these years, too? Warmth welled up in his belly again, although his dick still remained limp, but when Dean bent closer and traced Sam's still slightly swollen nipple with the tip of his tongue, a soft yet deep moan escaped from his mouth... 

...and a trickle of slick leaked from his flaccid dick as tendrils of heat zinged through his body from the gentle touch. It felt incredible and, although it was impossible, Sam felt an orgasm approaching although he still wasn't hard!

Dean gave him a curious look and licked around the sensitive nub, which made Sam's eyes water. He threw his head back and moaned. "Oh sweet god, please don't stop, Dean!"

* * *

Two-point-four-six-nine? Twice plus almost again. Or Sam had 69-ed himself. Unlikely. He'd slip and kill himself in that slippery environment. Wishing he'd been there to watch the no doubt spectacular floor show of Sam doing himself multiple times, Dean gave himself a mental shrug. After today, if they weren't bringing each other off Sam would probably be willing to demonstrate as long as Dean did the same with his own techniques, which he had absolutely no problem with. He hoped it went like that. If this turned out to be only a one-off, he wouldn't be a happy camper. For sure, he needed to see his brother let go of his prodigious self-control and come like the sexual animal Dean could sense was lurking under the surface.

And just how to make that happen had presented itself – in Dean's mouth. The first tentative licks to his ultra-sensitive nipple had Sam moaning and twisting for more. Dean sucked the hard bud into his mouth and suckled at it rhythmically while his fingers found the other and applied a similar pattern of sharp pulls and pinches. That scent bled off Sam again, up Dean's nose. He was hooked. Addicted. Switching to the other side, Dean suckled the other tiny tit and rolled the first, elongated from how hard he'd pulled at it. 

Unsurprisingly, Sam couldn't hold still. He arched and rolled around, growling and grunting to punctuate some of Dean's rougher treatment. The sound of his brother in pained, aroused bliss went straight to Dean's crotch; the tingling turned hot with a renewed in-rush of blood. Anyone watching them would have laughed, between Sam's twitchy jerking and convulsing, Dean trying to follow along, humping air as often as any part of Sam. Finally Dean just shoved the big galloot onto his back, kneed his legs apart and crawled on top. "Gotcha!" 

Man, his adrenalized brother was strong. Even now, with Dean's full weight pressing down on him, Sam threatened to buck him off when Dean went to work again on the stiff reddened nipples. "Taste good, Sammy," he breathed. "Sweet..." Tongue flick, lips pursed in a soft clamp, teeth the hidden treat applied with delicate precision, enough but not too much, a little pain with the tenderness. From his advantageous position, Dean rolled his hips to his body's demands, dick hard again, raining clear droplets onto Sam's groin. "You're something else, you know that? Such a surprise." Dean paused a second. "You're a boy now, a man. Not like... Well. But I just wanna..." He leaned down, shuffled upwards, took Sam's mouth like he had during the fast hand-job, like it might be the last time. Their lips met, slid, and met again. 

Till now, other than rubbing against him, Dean hadn't touched Sam below the belt since he'd conveyed he couldn't get it up again for a while. Now Dean raised his body up a little. Enough to palm Sam's balls and run a finger back behind. "Have you ever?" It was important, whether he had or not, and Dean would behave accordingly. "Would you let me?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam continued to moan and thrash under Dean's treatment. All his life, he'd loved having his nipples played with, but right now he wondered if they'd recently turned into even more of an erogenous zone than his dick.

Dean wrangled him onto his back and held him in place, then resumed making love to his nipples. Bordering on painful, Dean applied the perfect amount of pressure and suction, and Sam was dizzy with need. He was so close, about to come from his brother teasing and torturing his tightened and oversensitive nubs!

Then, the hot mouth abruptly left and Sam whined with disappointment – that turned into another moan when Dean kissed him. Letting himself fall into the kiss and matching every lick Dean gave him with one of his own, Sam wasn't as aroused as before, but it gave him time to catch his breath.

He wanted Dean's attention back on his chest, but apparently his brother had other plans. Sam gasped when he felt a strong, warm hand cradle his balls and caress his taint. Mewling with pleasure, it took all his energy to focus on the question Dean had just asked – which wasn't fair: nobody should have to think with Dean's fingers doing such incredible things to him.

"No, never," Sam panted. "And yes, I'd let you... Wanted you for so long, been dreaming about you..."

Memory hit him like an ice cold shower. He already _had_ let Dean – who denied it had ever happened and refused to talk about it. It had broken Sam's heart at the time. And maybe he was... no, he couldn't bring himself to even think the p-word. It was impossible for a man! To make things worse, he suddenly couldn't get the mental image of Dr. Rawlins' thick latex-clad finger out of his mind, and he stiffened.

Dean noticed immediately that something was wrong.

"Sorry, De," Sam sighed. "I love you and I want this... us, and I'll let you, then ask you to do it over and over again, but right now... my mind's elsewhere. Sorry." 

* * *

"No, I'm sorry." Something was off, like a switch had flipped. Regret flooding him, Dean rolled away, already missing the warm velvety friction of Sam's skin and the steady thump of his heart. About then, he realized his stupid pants were still half-on, pushed down to knee level. It had been years and years since anyone had turned Dean down once they were alone and private and less than fully clothed. It didn't feel nice at all, that the one person he loved more than anyone in the world didn't want him back. 

He flopped onto his back and dragged the comforter over to cover Sam's sticky nakedness and his own unrepentant hard-on. Whatever he'd done – or hadn't done – Sam had gone from receptive and wanting to aversion.

"No means no, I'm the one who taught you that, and that's the rule," Dean reiterated, as much for his own benefit as Sam's. He didn't know what to say. Sam hadn't moved, other than to close his eyes as if it were too much for him. 

"It's... Well, you told me you were done for the time being, I shoulda listened." Dean couldn't stand it. He couldn't just lie there next to his brother all dripping and needy when Sam didn't want that. Whatever was wrong was his fault, but he couldn't even try to comfort Sam right now in his current state; it would be a downward spiral of lust and frustration. "I'll just... I'll go deal with this." Getting to his feet, he was glad Sam had lowered his lids to block him out. This sort of walk of shame, Dean didn't do, and he didn't want anyone to witness his awkward shuffle to the bathroom.

* * *

Instead of listening, Dean turned away and made to leave the room. Or was it his brother's instinct kicking in, his usual reaction to never stay around after getting off? According to what Dean had told him about his frequent sexual encounters, it was exactly what his brother did.

"Dean!" Sam cried out. He reached for a shirt tail but Dean was already too far away. Sam scrambled off the bed to stop his brother, but he stumbled over his towel and fell, literally landing on Dean's back.

"Shit, ouch, fuck," he swore, but wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and got to his feet again. "Don't go, Dean," Sam whispered against Sam ear and nuzzled his neck. "If you really want to leave, I'll let you go, but not before we've talked. It's... this whole situation. I'm freaking out, man. I need you... If you can't stand being around me, I'll manage on my own, but... but... Dean, I fucking love you and I don't want you to go."

* * *

"Sam..." Dean struggled to retain some measure of calm. He hadn't expected Sam to attempt to restrain him, let alone the clumsy but jarring tackle that nearly knocked him down. Now his moose of a brother was literally breathing down his neck. He was trapped between a wall of muscle and bone with one erect nipple poking him in the scapula, and the actual wall. Besides the renewed rush of heat brought by the closeness, Sam's words punched into Dean's guts. There was more about needing to talk – again? And another allusion to his improbable medical condition. One thing was sure: Dean wasn't leaving his brother in dire straits whether he was knocked up or not, other than momentarily. 

Between gritted teeth, Dean pressed out, "Not leaving. There's pie, remember? I was just going to the bathroom, to, er, discharge the chambers. If you gotta talk again, we'll talk when my upstairs brain's back online. Quit using me as your personal coat tree, though." Shrugging Sam off as gently as possible, Dean turned his head, not all of his body, but enough to judge if Sam would let him tend to business now. Fifty-fifty chance. A too-bright, watery gleam in his eyes, Sam seemed poised to reach out and grab someone again. Huh. He must think Dean would walk out on him. 

Funny thing, Dean couldn't walk out on anyone unless they were together. Like, together-together. When had that happened? Had it?? Yes, Dean decided, it had, and they were. He tilted his head up and gave Sam a peck on the cheek. "Get dressed. Have a snack. I guarantee I'll be finished in less than three minutes." 

* * *

Sam breathed a relieved sigh when Dean told him he simply needed the bathroom: for a moment he'd feared that the shared intimacy had made his brother run. Dean even pecked his cheek, which made him blink, but he finally let go of the tight embrace.

Get dressed and have a snack, yeah, Sam thought, he could do that. Or at least part of it since Dean promised to be finished in less than three minutes. Although... wait a minute, _finished?_ And 'discharging the chambers' could also have more than one interpretation! 

Sam's nipples stung, but he still didn't grow erect. He swallowed and dug clean clothes from his duffel. Despite desperately wanting to know what Dean was doing in the bathroom, he didn't have the right to ask. Nor listen too closely, but how was he to stop himself from that? In any event, no sounds emerged, and by the time the door opened again, Sam was sitting on his – their – bed fully dressed.

"So," he smiled, trying to appear as unruffled as Dean looked, "pie, then?"

* * *

He really had to think about it, Dean could tell, but after another stalled minute Sam let him go. Escaping to the bathroom, Dean glared down at his traitorous upright dick willing it to go soft, but as usual it did the opposite. The little slit winked and spat at him. Rather than delay the inevitable, Dean took himself in hand, feet braced wide apart, back to the wall. He bit his lips raw to keep every sound under wraps. Sam didn't need to hear this. In his current, touchy mood he'd probably take it as failure on his part. 

Each stroke brought him closer to unloading. For once, Dean didn't enjoy it. He didn't want to fuck his hand – he wanted a long, firm, willing and responsive person under or on him. As quickly as his body could manage, Dean brought himself off with a swallowed grunt and reached for a tissue, which he wiped the handful of jizz on and promptly dropped in the toilet. He washed his hands and face, rearranged his hair into something presentable to the general public and took a leak, making a face and then washing his hands a second time. It was more like Sam to be ultra-fastidious like that but Dean wanted as little pheromones floating around as possible, and his junk was a major producer. 

Back in the room, Sam was dressed – thank goodness – and offered him pie. "Sure, yeah. I'd have thought you'd start without me. Drink your shake before it melts." Dean smiled a little ruefully; he sounded like someone's mother. But that only reminded him of Item Numero Uno on what was likely to be Sam's agenda. Looking away, Dean dropped into one of the not-so-sturdy chairs tucked under the table and grabbed a fork. He didn't have any paper plates so they'd have to eat it out of the box. With Sam across the room, that wasn't going to fly. Picking up the second fork and the open box, Dean crossed the worn brownish carpet and sat near Sam, but far enough away to set the pie between them. "Here..." He held out a fork. 

* * *

Sam took the fork with a smile and started on a piece of pie. The rich flavor of the fresh cherries exploded in his taste buds and he sighed happily. "Mmh, this is so good," he stated. Next to him, although separated by the pie, Dean looked like he was sharing Sam's enthusiasm.

"Man, this pie is the... second best thing to happen in a long time," Sam continued. "And the best was... well, you. A few minutes ago. And I'm sorry for messing up right after, but I promise it's just postponed. Um, unless you'd rather... not..." 

There was nothing Sam wanted more than feeling Dean come apart under his hands again, but he wasn't sure that was what Dean wanted, too. He wanted to know, but he was aware how much Dean loathed talking and he feared he was coming on too strong.

"I'm not trying to pressure you into saying anything," Sam cringed. "Just, whatever happens, you're my brother and I love you. In more than one way, but I'll keep a lid on my feelings if they make you uncomfortable. If it's easier for you, nothing ever happened..."

Shit, he wasn't making sense, not even to himself.

"Anyway, great pie. Thanks for getting it." Sam smiled.

* * *

Dean wasn't annoyed, in fact he was pretty happy with the forkful of sweet and flaky goodness he'd just stuffed into his face. He knew it was rude to talk with his mouth full, but he needed to say something: "Dude... Quit apologizing. It's a sign of weakness."

Once he'd swallowed the delicious bite, Dean elaborated. "You're not weak, so don't go there, either. You're just having an off day. Some off days. I want you, too, okay? Love you, too, always." Dean ducked his head. Gods, he felt like a twat. He took another big bite, taking his time, masticating thoroughly. "That quack really rattled you. I'd say ignore it but we know that never works if your last name is Winchester." Maybe this was as good a time as any to suggest his back-up plan to whatever tests they'd done at the hospital. "When I went for your requested antiperspirant and the snacks, I, uh, got something else, too. Just in case we needed a second opinion." Yeah, or third and fourth. "A pregnancy test. I'm thinking you should just get it over with." 

Sam's features rubber-faced their way through uncomprehending, shocked, amused, wary, pissed, and finally mostly just scared and unhappy. "Or I can shut up and never mention it again." Dean stuffed in more pie and chewed, glad for an excuse to not have to talk for another minute.

* * *

It was tempting for Sam to admit that he could afford to show weakness because he had his awesome strong brother looking out for him, but Dean immediately stated that Sam wasn't weak. Before he could react to that – and to Dean's announcement that he loved Sam, too – Dean dropped a bomb: he'd bought not only what had been on his shopping list but also a pregnancy test. Several pregnancy tests, in fact, as Sam could see in his brother's hand once his brain stopped denying the information. 

After pulling off his usual fish-out-of-water routine, Sam nodded grimly. He had to go again in any event, and he also needed to apply – spray himself with – the deodorant before his pheromones made Dean all horny again. It wouldn't help with Sam's sexual needs, but the mere thought of taking a pregnancy test would take care of that. "I guess I'd best get it over with, then," he agreed. Grabbing the paper bag from the pharmacy, he fled to the bathroom without looking at Dean. 

Obviously, Sam had never taken such a test before, but how hard could it be to pee on a stick? Dean must have panicked buying these as he'd brought three of them, but Sam could relate. Whatever one of them might show, he'd want to double check. He made sure to 'soak 'em well' and set the sticks aside while he engulfed himself in a cloud of anti-stink vapor. Thank goodness, Dean had picked a spray that wasn't too offensive to the nose.

A glance at his watch told him that three minutes had passed, meaning that the pregnancy tests were ready to announce their verdict now. Sam didn't really want to look, but he had to. It took all his mental strength to check the displays. What he saw, though, made him break into hysterical laughter.

A second later, Dean burst in, terror written all over his face. "What is it, Sam?"

Unable to stop himself from giggling madly, Sam held out the sticks to him. A positive result would be indicated by a pink line, which one of the sticks showed. The second showed nothing at all, and the third had a blue line.

Tears streaming down his face, he asked his brother, "So what do these tell us?"

* * *

For a few minutes, there was relative silence from the bathroom. Dean tried not to listen, to give Sam some privacy if just by tuning him out. He helped himself to a second wedge of pie and grabbed his shake. Man, he was already feeling the sugar buzz. 

Then, a burst of explosive laughter rang through the door. Near-hysterical, not humorous. Dean jumped to his feet and rushed over. Sam hadn't locked it, and he forgot all about privacy in the interest of discovering what was wrong now. On the other side, Sam thrust out one of his long-ass arms with three used pee-sticks in his mitt and Dean stepped back a pace, squinting down at the tiny windows. Sam reiterated what he was seeing. One pink line, one blank, one... blue? Was it just the different brand, or wasn't that supposed to happen? Sam was shaking with laughter, tears running down his face. 

"What? A boy, a girl, and an it?" Dean deadpanned. He had no clue. There'd been plenty of time for Sam to read the literature included in the boxes, which Dean hadn't. "Calm down, Sam..." He was beginning to get concerned. First, he made Sam throw the little plastic dipsticks away. They'd both seen. Then he hauled his brother out into the room and sat him down on the rumpled, crumb-strewn bed.

"I think it's fair to say the results are inconclusive," Dean told his brother seriously. The absurdity of the situation smacked him in the brain – a pregnant man, no, a pregnant _Sam_ , the two of them blundering around, trying to figure it out with over-the-counter home pregnancy tests designed for women. No wonder the things had flipped them a figurative bird. Next thing he knew, Dean started giggling and then laughing his ass off, too. It went on and on. 

"Only us, right?" Dean hiccoughed. He tried to think of a solution. "In the middle of a case, yet. Maybe we should... say goodbye to these poor schmucks in Elko and... I dunno. See a hoodoo priest? Or Ellen's man?" That was the closest they got to 'medical' of their own volition, unless it was life-or-death. Hell, he didn't know if it would be. Well, Sam wasn't dying, not on his watch. Not at all. 

* * *

At first, Dean stared at him and then at the sticks before suggesting that Sam was pregnant with a girl, a boy, and... whatever. Sam had been struggling to regain his composure, but Dean's remark immediately sent him into the next fit of giggles. Dean's subsequent plea that Sam calm down was inconveniently ignored by Sam's brain.

Eventually, Dean pulled him from the bathroom and sat him on the bed. Sam had barely caught his breath and he was ready to agree that the results were inconclusive when the absurdity of the situation hit Dean, too. From then on, every time one of them managed to get his laughter under control, the other would nix the effort and draw him into another round of hysterical giggling.

By the time they finally could breathe again, Sam was sure they'd both have a sore diaphragm the next day – aching from overuse, from too much laughter, wasn't an everyday occurrence in their hunters' lives, but he was still glad it was over.

"Ellen's man sounds like an idea," Sam admitted after listening to Dean's suggestions. "But let's try to solve this case first." He wasn't too keen on more embarrassing exams, and whatever was going on with him wouldn't kill him outright if so far all it had done was cause a reduction of bladder capacity and stinging nipples, right?

"And I need more pie," Sam forced his thoughts away from a potential sickness. He attacked the next chunk of pie and nodded. "Most definitely more pie. So, I'm sorry, but I was kinda preoccupied earlier when you reported on the patient charts and the interview with that guy. Could you repeat a quick summary for me, please?"

* * *

"Um, right." Sam did a 180, from half-hysterical to completely businesslike in seconds. Nice skill set, Dean reflected. He wished he was so presto-change-o. Instead he was still chuckling, which suddenly felt out of place. "We didn't get much of a chance, between you passing out and your cravings." 

Now Sam was downing more dessert like it was his last meal. Just as well. Maybe Dean shouldn't talk about those till Little Sam recovered. Another round of the brush-off was not his idea of a good time. "Slow down, Sam. Touchy belly... You might also think about getting online and hacking into the hospital's records. Long story short, the vics think they got diddled in their sleep. Most were having nightmares. Rawlins thinks they're, er, getting off in these dreams or sometimes night terrors. But that doesn't necessarily add up to white hair... I feel like I'm missing something." 

* * *

"Hey, I may have been the only one who passed out, but I seem to remember some cravings on your side as well," Sam replied, but he had a smile on his face when he did. "Not that I'm complaining, but we have a job to do." 

Staying composed took a lot of concentration, but Sam succeeded to pull his thoughts away from the goings-on in his – and to some degree Dean's – body and listened intently to Dean's report.

"Maybe we were a little too quick dismissing succubi. Could be one of them, just maybe not the garden variety." 

Sam hesitated. "Should we go talk to the victims some more or do you think searching the 'Net will lead us further for the moment?"

* * *

He had to bring up Dean's own cravings. As if he were much more than powerless between the fucking pheromones and his brother more or less assaulting him with his nipples! A sidelong cut of his half-lidded eyes, in which Sam checked him out in that 'I'm not looking' way of his, he then made sure to remind Dean they were on a case. Dean wanted to roll his eyes at the duplicitous behavior but didn't. Some of the responsibility was his, he supposed: reacting. And he didn't want to think about what might have started this whole mess in the first place. "Way to punch a guy in the dick," he bitched anyway. Sam being right didn't mean Dean had to like it. 

He took a – shallow – calming breath. "Succubi would drain the guys of life force. They didn't have anything wrong with them beyond mild dehydration. Well, that and some psychological trauma. I suppose monsters could mutate and it could be some new version," Dean put in somewhat dubiously. "I suggested you look at the records to catch up on the details, but whatever. Let's go do some more interviews. I only got to talk to one guy. We'll turn you loose on the wives and girlfriends."

Having decided, Dean stood and brushed crumbs from his pants. "You know, it's interesting you said you wanted to talk to Gabriel. Before that, I'd been thinking trickster. We know know he's really an angel. Maybe he's escalating. Or he swings both ways, when it comes to his... nature. He was in disguise a long time." 

* * *

"Yeah, I know," Sam confirmed what Dean had said about succubi. "It isn't classical succubus behavior, but this still reeks of sex demon. Just what kind exactly, I have no clue. Yet," he added grimly. "Asking Gabriel – or by whatever name he goes these days – could help. He's been around for a long time, so he might know what we're dealing with. I'm talking only about the white hair thing for now."

Sam shot a warning glance at his brother. They'd have to address Sam's condition again soon, but right now he needed to focus on the case or he'd wig out. "Problem with him is, of course, even if he knows, we can safely assume that he'll want to play some game with us." Sam swallowed. He had a pretty good idea that whatever was happening to him was caused by one of Gabriel's games.

"Your girl back at the hospital," Sam grinned, attempting to lighten the mood, "gave you a password for the patient files, right? There must be access to their computer system from outside. I'll see about that later, so I can still read the files." And find out about his own lab results, he thought glumly but kept the slightly forced grin on his face.

"Until then, let's talk to the vics and their loved ones. You got the addresses?"

* * *

For a second, Dean froze. The day so far had been so weird he had to scrape the bottom of his short-term memory for the answer. At least he'd done some actual work today, enough to be able to say, "Yeah, got 'em all. In my little notebook in my jacket pocket." A small amount of relief flooded him: he could still do his job in the face of Sam's problems. 

Time to go. Dean stood up and grabbed his suit jacket from where it had fallen on the floor. "Sex demon, huh? Interesting turn of phrase, Sam. That could explain the waking-up-screaming, terrified business. Did I mention that before?" His little book wasn't in his pocket. What the hell? "Huh. Must've fallen out in the car." A sinking feeling slithering through him, Dean got back on his feet again. Research blew – he didn't want to it all over a second time. 

Then he discovered he didn't have keys either. "Sam... Someone or something's fucking with us." As if they hadn't already determined that. "Again, I mean." Reaching behind, Dean swore at his missing handgun. He'd left it... somewhere in the room. "You packing?" he asked Sam in a stage-whisper. "I don't mean dick size. Where's your Taurus?" 

* * *

Dean confirmed that he had the addresses written down, but apparently, he'd lost his notebook. Sam prepared to wind him up about it, but Dean's frown suggested that not only the notebook was missing. The question whether Sam was packing almost made him crack up, but Dean made clear he'd asked about Sam's handgun, and all of a sudden, things were way less than funny.

Sam immediately went to full alert. Touching his back, he found the reassuring handle of his Taurus, which he'd stuffed in his waist-band where it belonged. Ruby's knife was... not in his sock because his feet were still bare, but a quick check revealed that the knife was safely stashed in his boot. "All there. Maybe you left them in the bathroom? We were a little... distracted. I mean, it's not every day that you have to wrestle your hysterical brother who's just had a positive pregnancy test. What if the notebook and gun slipped from your pocket while you had your hands – literally – full with me?"

* * *

Scanning the room right to left and back, Dean squinted at Sam, who had decided this was a good and appropriate time to be joking at a normal volume. Something... cobweb-y frisked Dean's body, wisps and clingy, slightly sticky strands of something there and gone again. He jumped about four feet in the air, batting at his hair, trying to rid himself of the ickiness. 

A second later, Dean realized exactly what a spectacle he was making of himself. He stood up straight, not sure which to be annoyed at: himself for freaking out over nothing, losing his piece, or the way Sam was grinning like a loon at him, deep dimples hollowing in each cheek in a way that would be completely adorable if Sam wasn't a grown-ass man and laughing at him. "Dude, I'd swear something just felt me up. Fine, I'll check the bathroom but I'm sure I didn't..." Dammit, his .45 was sitting like the Thanksgiving turkey on the notebook, on top of the toilet tank. Considering the last couple hours, Dean could see how one or the other of those items might have been set there during the brain-dead miasma of getting Sam here, getting the stuff he'd asked for, and then – Dean's cheeks turned pink – getting off. 

No use trying to hide it. He walked out of the bathroom, handed Sam the notebook and tucked the silver-plated Colt into the back of his waistband. That was all kinds of better. Belatedly, he raised an eyebrow at Sam. "If I remember correctly, that was you who had your hands full of me." At this rate they were never going to get out of there, and Dean definitely wanted to switch rooms. He put a hand in his front pocket. Miracle of all miracles, his silver bullet keychain was there, where it was supposed to be. 

They left. Dean half-expected hijinks with his car but she roared to life and settled into her distinct growly purr like almost any other day. "Look in the book, second and third pages. That's where I wrote down all the names, addresses, numbers, and so on. Pick one and we'll go from there." 

* * *

"Yeah, before you had to drag my hysterical ass from the bathroom, I had my hands full of you," Sam replied. They'd have to talk about this sooner or later, and he took the opportunity: right now, Dean was joking about 'it', but Sam knew that in a matter of seconds his brother would shut up and refuse to ever mention it again.

Acknowledging that Dean found his gun and notebook in the bathroom, Sam followed him to the car. He made a mental note to demand more details about what Dean said had felt him up – Dean wouldn't make a fuss about cobwebs and it could be pertinent to the case – but at the moment he focused on the earlier event between them.

"So, when I mean I had my hands full of you, I mean full as in capital F-U-L-L. Man, that was..." Sam had to stop before he was overwhelmed by lust – and emotions. Maybe it was better to just stick with the sexual aspect and not mention his love again. "I've wanted to do that for a long time, and I could really bite myself in the ass for jerking off so many times that I had nothing left to give. Dean," Sam stopped again, suddenly shy, "I... is it okay if I want that again?"

* * *

What, again? Hadn't they had this discussion already? Dean looked out the driver's-side window and rolled his eyes for real this time. Not like Dean had a lot of experience with relationships, but he'd given Sam crap forever about acting like a woman – since he was old enough to figure out that men didn't talk about that stuff. Not in depth, repeatedly, about their _loooove_. He'd already given Sam way more than he had intended back in the room, to a level it almost made him cringe to think of. 'I want you.' 'I love you.' And he'd even admitted to how long he'd felt, well, unbrotherly about his brother.

"Yeah. Fine," he grunted. Putting the car in gear, he peeled out onto the street, not sure where they were going first. Sam hadn't even opened the book. Snapping his fingers, Dean barked, "Sam! Where to?" 

* * *

Where to? "Downtown or to the nearest mall," Sam answered immediately. "We need a map if we want to find any of these addresses."

Ignoring the glare from his brother, Sam returned to his previous topic. He was encouraged by the fact that Dean hadn't immediately told him to shut up. Better even, Dean hadn't ignored Sam's question, he'd even responded with two – _two!_ – words, and they hadn't been 'no, not ever again.' Okay, that was four words, but still. Unless Dean explicitly forbade him to speak, Sam would continue, and that included bringing up that other time.

"So it didn't gross you out that we had sex today? Not unlike three months ago? I don't get it Dean, if you're fine with it, with me wanting it again, today, why do you keep denying what we shared back then?"

* * *

Dean blinked. God, would Sam never shut his pie hole?! How his brother could even imagine Dean might be disgusted by him, them, whatever when he'd been hard off and on all day – that went beyond Dean. And just look at what had followed! But why did he have to fucking ramble on and on? Sam even brought up... that night. Again. No, they weren't discussing it. Not now. Probably not ever. Sam had had girl parts, somehow. Just like today, those uber-pheromones had sucked him in, so to speak, and they'd done it. And now Sam might be pregnant. Fuck. They'd have to figure that out but as far as how it had happened in the first place? Just... No. Tension began to creep into Dean's shoulders and back. 

"Sam... Boner means not grossed out. Hello." Dean hoped his tone got through Sam's apparently never-ending afterglow. End of story as far as he was concerned. "And you get maps at the gas station, haven't you learned anything?" Luckily there was one just ahead up the road with a convenience store, so Dean pulled Baby into the driveway. A little distance, that should put an end to all this, this, girl talk. He braked a little harder than necessary and jumped out, stalking in through the glass-paneled door. 

* * *

Sam sighed, loud and meaningfully. Just because Dean completely ignored his need to talk – as always – didn't mean Sam had to be quiet about it. One day, he'd made that decision shortly after 'that night', he'd tie his brother to the bedposts and keep him there until they'd discussed their relationship, including the physical aspects. And if Sam should feel guilty for getting hard at the image of his naked, spread-eagled and tied-up brother, that had nothing to do with his 'plan': the latter didn't include undressing Dean, after all.

Dean gave him a funny look and Sam forced his attention back to the present. Was he sweating again? Pouring out more pheromones? Thank goodness, his dick was still in hibernation!

"You get maps at the gas station," Sam acknowledged, "but not books. As in books on local history."

* * *

A noise like the dying breaths and grunts of a melancholy, truculent bull moose followed Dean into the store. He almost laughed. If it weren't directed at him, he would have. When the case was solved and the whole male-pregnancy thing was either disproved or... something, he was going to lay Sam down and give him every inch of his love... Dammit. Dean shut off his internal Robert Plant, said a quick prayer to the phallic gods that they keep his down the rest of the day, then hustled over to the shelves of magazines with a few maps in a rack on top. In it, he found one of Nevada which included a few small street maps of cities. That would give them the main streets, anyway. If Sam could be bothered to check online, there were probably better versions. It was odd, Dean frowned, that Sam didn't want to check the online medical records for himself or that he just ask Dean to drive around till they hit a WiFi hotspot for other research. After a lifetime of it, Sam must be hankering for the smell of old musty paper and dust – Eau de Library. Bookstore, Dean's freckled ass. No way he was paying for more books of lore for them to drag from state to state. 

Besides the map, he got them each a coffee. The SlimJims tempted him, but they were pungent and he didn't want Sam heaving again. Especially not in the car. Taking his change, Dean mentally armored himself for the next round. 

"Here, Sam, take this, it's coffee." He was already sliding into the driver's seat when he spoke and held out the disposable cup. "I think you want a library. Those books there will be older than anything retail. Want me to drop you off?" Not that Dean had any idea where one might be, but all they had to do was steal a phone book, or again, look it up online. 

* * *

Dean pulled up at a gas station and returned a minute later with a map and coffee. Sam appreciated the latter although it meant that he'd better stay close to restrooms for the remainder of the day. Still, since they were going to interview the victims, that could actually turn out to be an advantage: he wouldn't even have to pretend to have to go in order to snoop around.

After taking a gulp of the hot brew – no caramel, but he'd had much worse – Sam watched his brother unfold the map and belatedly realized that the map and the coffee was all Dean had bought.

It was too good to resist.

"Where's the porn?"

* * *

Dean nearly dropped his coffee. Sam asking for porn?? Even the thought made him start to sweat, a rush of heat arrowing to his groin. "You're kidding, right? Thought we were s'posed to be avoiding, um," he fumbled for the right word, "stimulation." 

Damn his wandering eyes, Dean couldn't help it: He looked at Sam's crotch and then away again. No suspicious bulges, no more than normal. Sam sat there smirking at him like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Now Dean had first-hand knowledge of exactly how hot that mouth was. He met his brother's sly eyes and asked, "Did you want some?"

* * *

Oh dear, that had gone the wrong way. "No, I'm good," Sam said, trying to look nonchalant but unable to keep the deep grin off his face. "It's just that I've rarely seen you leave the newspaper section without..."

Oops. Dean didn't exactly pay for his hobby. He usually swiped the mags and hid them in his jacket. Or, if he wasn't wearing one as right now, he sometimes stuffed them down the crotch of his pants. Sam couldn't help his eyes traveling to said place.

To his utter surprise, again, the thought of his brother being hard did nothing for him sexually. Okay, this was getting weird. By now it was an hour since Sam had wrung his dick dry, and his stamina usually caught up with his libido within such a time frame. 

So what now, his nipples were sore and he had to piss every five minutes, check, but now he couldn't get it up? Sam's hand drifted to his groin in an unplanned move and he let out a sigh when he encountered his – soft but present – member.

His grin was gone when he turned to Dean again. "Sorry," he said without elaborating further. "Hand me the map so I can guide us to the first vic?"

* * *

"No Busty Asian Beauties today," Dean put that idea firmly to rest. The store might've had 100 copies of it for sale or none, he wouldn't know the difference not having bothered to look. 

Sam got quiet about then; normally he'd be badgering Dean either about buying porn, stealing porn, looking at porn, surfing the web on Sam's computer for porn, but today it was for not doing any of that. Or, so Dean had thought, what with wise-ass question that had popped out of his brother's face. Curiosity won out. When he looked over to find out why there'd been no snappy follow-up, he wished he hadn't. Sam was staring off into space, and then he reached between his legs and ran one of those big hands over his junk like he needed to reassure himself it was still attached. While relaxed, it most certainly was. As if the hand were touching him instead, Dean could almost feel the inventory being taken: shaft, head, right nut, left nut. And, squeeze. His own balls tightened. 

Handing the map over with a grunt, Dean rested his hands on the steering wheel. In a moment, he'd have to drive. He'd better get his act together once and for all. The paper rattled as Sam smoothed it out flat against Baby's dashboard. Couldn't he hurry? Elko wasn't that big of a town. 

* * *

"No worries, I'll grab you some porn later," Sam supplied almost automatically. His brain caught up a second later and he smirked. "If you're good."

He focused on the map and it took him only a minute to find the street where the first victim lived. He gave the directions to Dean, then asked, "So who do you think we should impersonate this time? If we introduce ourselves as CDC or anything health related, we risk a panic. These are ordinary folks, not doctors, and CDC for them implies stuff like anthrax or ebola."

Sam thought for a minute, then broke into a wide grin. "Here's an idea. We'll be snake oil salesmen. We've got enough holy water that we could sell as hair tonic. Just give me half an hour with my computer – so I can make labels – and a printer," he smiled triumphantly, "which I'm sure we can find in the local library."

* * *

"You're going to get _me_ porn. I'll believe that when I see it," scoffed Dean under his breath. The idea Sam put forth as to how to get them into the vics' houses already had him shaking his head in mock disbelief. 

"Is that the best you can come up with? I almost wish someone had died – I'd rather be a fake priest than a fake salesman! If you want to play at the library, just say so." Dean reached up and scratched idly at the back of his neck. "Let's say they even let us in the house. What possible basis do we have to question people?" 

Then the lights finally went on. "Oh, I get it. You're gonna tell 'em it'll restore their natural hair color, huh?" 

* * *

Although Sam hadn't seriously considered acquiring porn for Dean, he was now bound to do so: his little brother reputation was on the line otherwise. However, it would have to wait until they'd finished their current job and... He swallowed. Right. Focus on the job.

Sam shoved every thought aside that didn't relate directly to their case. "It'll restore their natural hair color," he confirmed, "and more. It'll augment their virility – obviously any snake oil does – and let's see what else. It makes them look twenty years younger – only those who are over forty, of course. It'll make them irresistible to women under thirty. Come on, what else, bro?"

Sam nudged Dean's ribs with his elbow. "What would make _you_ buy this stuff? Oh, and I already have a name for it: Serpessence."

* * *

"Well well well, aren't you quite the little – make that huge – con artist? Just the name sounds like snake oil," Dean chortled. Standing on a prospective buyer's doorstep and saying 'Serpessence' without laughing would test his limits.

A sharp elbow poked his side, followed by a jab on his virility. "Nothing would make me buy that stuff. Why would I need it – I'm a joy to be around and in my prime." Wasn't he? So fine, he wasn't seventeen anymore. He got more than his fair share of tail and it was all good till recently, with Sam acting weird and being so distracting. But today they had...or something... hadn't they? Now that he thought about it, Sam had squeezed off three rounds in a row earlier. Allegedly. Then he'd used his hands on Dean – once – and it had felt fantastic but he'd been more about kissing and nipple play. He hadn't let Dean... dammit, maybe his game was off after all. Not like he'd talk about it. Hell, no. 

Better to iron out the details of their next ploy than start overthinking like some lovelorn, Twilight-reading tween. "Uh... Most of these guys are married or in," Dean couldn't keep the air quotes off the next two words, "committed relationships. You might want to go easy on the 'irresistible to younger women' bit if the current one's around. No one wants to hear they're old and over the hill." He cringed. Yeah, that last part was a little too true. Man, this sucked! Never before in his life had Dean's insecurities included anything about his body or what he did with it, sexually. Fucking Elko.

* * *

"You _are_ a joy to be around and in your prime," Sam soothed. It was true: his brother was _hot,_ regardless that Sam's sex drive was apparently on strike. "So, yeah, you're the wrong person to ask for properties other guys would want. Then again, 'Stay in your prime forever with Serpessence' is a perfect slogan." He grinned.

"Something we'd both wish for in a miracle oil would be demon-destroying powers, but I figure that wouldn't sell with the vics. About the wives, you're right to be careful what we say. So," Sam concluded, "since I have the great hair, I'll leave the virility speech to the sex god." 

* * *

"Right," Dean snorted. "Then I guess I'd better testify as Serpessence's most satisfied customer. We can't mention demons, but something like... it promotes restful sleep, good dreams... These guys have been having nightmares, it'd be just the cure." He flashed a grin. "Did you figure out where the library is yet? We're burning up gas." 

* * *

"Good idea," Sam replied. "We'll add restful sleep to the list and you can testify to that in addition to be walking proof that the stuff boosts one's masculinity. Shit, man, should we feel guilty for lying to the poor bastards? I, for one, do. I think we should give them a couple of bottles for free. Maybe the power of suggestion will help – with the sleep, I mean, obviously not with the hair."

A quick look out of the window told Sam where they were. "Turn right at the second intersection from here. Then, the library is half a mile ahead."

He opened his laptop computer and was relieved to see that there was no WiFi available on the streets. The last thing Sam needed was having to explain to his bother why he didn't want to log into the hospital computer network: right now, he wasn't sure if he could handle finding out about his hormone levels after the weirdness of the pregnancy test results.

* * *

Making the turn, Dean replied, "Great. And then you can hack into the hospital's medical records, too. Read the case material for yourself." Going to college, Dean reasoned, had given Sam a range of experiences and skills most hunters with their dysfunctional, short lives never gained. Sam knew things like what wine went with what meat, arcane Latin dialects, and all sorts of useful information about how to work around the law, but he wasn't sure if that mysterious four years worth of learning included how to read ultrasound pictures or whatever the proper terminology might be. Hell, he was probably just as capable... Hm. 

Dean remembered the log-in info and password just fine. Most of the time, he spent the hours at the library twitching and bored off his ass, flirting with any half-attractive young female and ultimately nerdy librarian. He was going to do a little research of his own today. Sam kept pressing the point of three months – a three-month fetus was already almost fully-formed. Even Dean should be able to figure out if... it... had a spine and a head or not, or if it was just a mass, abnormal but non-baby. 

Absorbed in the contemplation of what he might discover about whatever was growing in his brother's abdominal cavity, Dean drove right past the library and had to circle the block when Sam smacked his shoulder. He found a parking spot and followed Sam in. Geek-boy was keen on getting his butt to a printer, sailing into the big open area where by-the-hour computers lined the walls, dimples flashing, with his hair streaming behind him. 

It sort of hit Dean right then how, if this was a kid, he wanted it. It couldn't be. No way. Sam was a man. Men didn't get pregnant. They didn't have the right equipment. And even if he hadn't hallucinated that night, an hallucination Sam shared, he'd been back to being a dude the next day. Plus Dean had used a condom. But if despite all this the unthinkable was true, it was part him and part Sam and Dean would fight to his last breath to keep it safe. 

He made sure to choose a computer far away from Sam, who was typing away merrily with something like glee, no doubt the 'Serpessence' labels. Where the hell did he come up with this stuff? Dean had to admit it was a good idea; the trick would be to get people talking, but they'd both been doing that more than half their lives. Now that he'd had his minor epiphany about the... baby – was he really calling it that now? – Dean hesitated, stalled, his fingers poised but motionless over the generic off-white keyboard. 

* * *

From his days back at Stanford, Sam remembered that there had been a website from a paper company which offered online design of labels. To his surprise, it still existed. Finding pictures of happy-looking people took only a few minutes. He chose men between twenty and forty who had smiling women beside them. It couldn't hurt to have several bottles with different labels: Dean had jotted down the victims' age and original hair color, so he could match the vics to the labels. 

He quickly typed up instructions – massage the scalp for thick and shiny hair; a teaspoon before going to bed for restful sleep; a tablespoon before going to _bed_ for virility – and sent the results to the printer. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. They should add some food dye to make the holy water look more 'authentic', he thought. 

It was only then that it hit him that the 'Serpessence' would really do something for the men: protect them from demons. As long as they had the stuff on or inside them, no demon could harm them. Sam's eyes widened. After spending most of his life hunting demons and other supernatural creatures, it had never occurred to him that a steady 'diet' of holy water might offer a degree of protection to him and Dean in addition to their anti-possession tattoos. As soon as this case was over, he'd do more research.

Meanwhile, he cleared the browser cache and logged out, then grabbed his printouts and went over to Dean. His brother was also sitting in front of a computer screen. Sam wasn't surprised that Dean had chosen the one that was farthest away from his own. He was, however, surprised when he saw what Dean was looking at: instead of the neon colors and naked girls from bustyasianbeauties.com, Dean was staring at a fuzzy black-and-white image. 

It took Sam a few seconds to make the connection: these were his hospital records Dean was looking at! Suddenly, he felt hot and cold at the same time. It was ironic; he'd been avoiding the patients' charts so that he didn't have to come across his own, and these were the first thing Dean checked out when he got online. 

Well, time to face the truth. Sam realized that if there was bad news, he wanted Dean to tell him. Schooling his face into an expression that he hoped looked in control, Sam asked, "So, Dr. Winchester, what's the verdict?"

* * *

Finally Dean made himself do it. He pulled up the hospital's website, took the link to medical records, and entered the secure log-in name and password from earlier in the day. It worked. There was no reason it shouldn't, it just seemed like weeks had passed between when they'd left the hospital and now. Another minute and file of one Waters, Roger opened. There were Sam's vitals, which he knew or could estimate. Chief complaints included frequent urination and urgency, nausea with vomiting, excessive sweating, increased sex drive, enlarged painful nipples... Check, check, check, Dean knew all of that, too. 

They'd run every STD test known to man, from the looks of it. All negative so far, some still pending. In general, Sam was healthy as a horse, no vitamin or mineral deficiencies, normal glucose, low cholesterol. The hormone panel showed testosterone in the mid-low range, but high estrogen for a man. It also registered progesterone and Dean was pretty sure he knew what that meant. His stomach, faced with what looked like medical proof, took a nose-dive. Yep, he'd done an actual pregnancy test. No result yet, however.

Rawlin's notes were scrawled but already transcribed: "Overall impression tall well-nourished, pleasant, educated man, late-twenties, unaccompanied, under some distress. Complaining of symptoms reminiscent of early pregnancy, see above. Claims no recent sex (3 mo), no current partner. Patient claims mammary papillae are over-sensitive; no basis of comparison – areolas raised/puffy for a slender man but within range, no gynecomastia. Abdomen well-muscled with normal bowel sounds, no hernias or discoloration. Genitals standard uncircumcized adult male in appearance, proportionate," Dean snorted quietly at that, but frowned at the next. "Small soft mass found upon palp, lower midline above symphasis pubis. Approx 10-12 cm. Stat ultrasound performed. Running labs, STD's, etc. Results to follow." 

The next tab in NNRH's neat filing system was radiology. There was an image, but no radiologist's official reading yet. The rectangular image didn't look like, well, anything really, just big blotches of black, white, and gray. Dean couldn't even tell what the normal organs were versus what wasn't supposed to be there. If he was expecting to see a miniature human or even a tadpole, he'd been mistaken. Or the Doc had aimed his probe-y thing wrong. 

Naturally, when Dean had his head cranked to the side and his eyes crossed from staring at the thing too long, Sam snuck up behind him. His tone was cool, half-snide and half-amused but underneath Dean picked up the same thing as he was feeling: scared shitless. "I haven't the slightest," he replied to his brother's question. Dean tried to be casual, but his ear tips burned. It probably wasn't cool he hadn't asked first. His whole life he'd just done what needed to be done in Sam's best interests. "Maybe you broke the machine, it looks like black-and-white scrambled eggs." He shrugged, waved it off and closed the windows. Later, once there'd been time for an ultrasound report to post, he'd check again. 

"What'd you come up with, for our fake snake oil bottles?" Pushing back his chair, Dean signaled they should head out. When they got outside, he marked the passing of time, always more than they intended. It was mid-morning already. "Man, I need a drink. Not like you should, in your condition, if it is in fact... But I guess we'd better get this over with." 

* * *

"Maybe I should have some of that miracle stuff myself," Sam suggested, still trying to sound unconcerned although Dean was clearly seeing through the attempt. "Who knows, Serpessence could be the cure for sore nipples." 

He snorted. "Should have printed that on the labels as well. Anyway, see for yourself. Don't these guys look happy? Or make that creepy, as in Stepford come to life." Sam offered the printouts to Dean and went to fetch the holy water that they kept in a four gallon container and prepared to fill some smaller bottles with it. 

"So, as you said, let's get this over with and then go for a drink. JD for you and milk for me, I suppose." Sam pulled a face and muttered, "Can't wait for _that_ to be over."

* * *

"I've got the cure for your sore nipples," Dean stated, unable to stop himself. He pointed at the side of his mouth and pursed his lips. There, let Sam try and cock-block him again with that mental picture. Damn, seemed like everything boiled down to Sam's nipples and need to pee these days. So just for fun, he asked, "Coffee catching up to you yet?" He really expected no response to the jibe and went to help Sam with their bottling project. 

His brother was right. The smiling faces on the labels Sam had thrown together looked eerily blank and trance-like. But who knew – maybe that's what supposedly normal people felt like and could relate to. He'd often wondered. Even his small trip into a non-hunting lifestyle had been a sham, just another hunt with a dead Djinn at the end. "They look like creepers," he weakly agreed, finding a funnel in the depths of Baby's trunk and cleaning the traces of oil from it. They filled about a dozen small bottles to make it seem legit. Dean wasn't sure where they'd come from. Obviously he and Sam carried holy water at all times; the supply must be left over from a vamp hunt, or sometime during that godforsaken year when Ruby had been Sam's best friend.

Then Sam suggested food coloring. "I guess... What color? Purple? Should we add some glitter, too?" Dean asked somewhat sarcastically. He slammed the trunk closed. Something else Sam had said was eating at him. "What do you mean, 'be over'? I thought you said you couldn't... get rid of it." While Dean didn't want to tromp on Sam's free will, he would try to talk his brother out of that. One more thing to feel guilty about wasn't something he wanted.

* * *

And things flipped upside down again. Hadn't Sam just been concerned by his lack of sexual response to Dean's innuendo? So why was it that yet another lewd remark from his brother sent all of Sam's blood to his groin within a single heartbeat? Sam gasped, and then he almost swooned as his – blood-deprived for obvious reasons – brain caught up with Dean's words. And his mimic. The memory of Dean's tongue and lips making love to his hyper-sensitive areola made Sam moan out loud. 

"Oh fuck," he gasped. "And no, I'm not referring to the coffee catching up although a trip to the men's room is most urgently on my agenda."

How was it possible that Dean simply continued bottling the holy water? With a heroic effort, Sam tamped down on his desires. "Yeah, creepers," he said in response to something Dean had brought up, whatever it was. And... color? Purple and glittery? And 'over'? Why would Sam want to get rid of...?

Understanding hit him like a sledge-hammer and he froze. "Dean, there's nothing to get rid of. I'm a guy, ergo I cannot be pregnant. Unless... What aren't you telling me?" Hysteria crept into Sam's voice again. "What did you find in my medical records?"

* * *

Oh shit, Sam was horny again. Other than he was blowing at all, the guy was really blowing hot and cold. Yep, here Dean was, confronted with the Triple Threat yet again. His own chest and groin tingled and he had to squeeze his junk painfully when Sam wasn't looking or it would have been as immediate as what was pointed at him. 

And yet another mood swing, only this time, Sam's about-to-freak-out voice scratched at Dean's residual memories. He had to keep that from happening. "Nothing! You saw it on the scan – indecipherable blobs. You're the one who said 'Milk'." Not a foot from him, Sam's face turned pale, then greenish. "Don't you puke on me," Dean ordered. "We have work to do, and we've been dicking around with this little arts and crafts project of yours long enough." 

Okay, not the most fortunate choice of words, but he had to cut through the queasiness. "Maybe you should drink some of this... product. It can't hurt. You must be getting dehydrated what with all the peeing and the, uh, stuff." As if they were still the ages of when they'd started using that euphemism, Dean's face flamed and his dick throbbed hard, thinking of Sam in ecstasy, ropes of thick cream spurting forth to coat his perfect upper body. Worst timing ever.

* * *

Sam stared at Dean for a moment before responding. "I was thinking of milk rather than JD in terms of stomach lining. 'M not too keen on an ER trash can repeat. Especially, as you said, not on you." Despite feeling himself turning green before, he blushed when the image of coming all over Dean popped up in his mind. How could one go from puking to sex in less than a second?

"You're right, though. Water would probably be better than milk. As for peeing, I'll wait. I'll tie a knot if I have to, so I can use that excuse to check out the place of our first vic. Let's go."

Determined to finish the job – or at least part of it – he read out driving instructions, and ten minutes later, Dean parked in front of a white picket fence. 

"Okay," Sam said as he stepped from the Impala. "Now, for this, do we look smarmy enough or should I rub some holy oil in my hair?"

* * *

Sam's complexion washed from greenish to deep rose over his tan in a second. Since Dean's lizard-brain had already come out to play, he could only guess what Sam was thinking of, but he had a pretty good clue with, 'get it on you.' Once again, he baited his brother, starting to enjoy it. "Next time you need the john for the _other_ reason," he flipped his eyebrows meaningfully, "you can get it all over me – I won't mind." He didn't think he'd mind, anyway. It had been a long time since his and Sam's furtive teenage fumblings but he'd never been grossed out. Maybe the opposite, in fact. 

Turning away to hide a grin, he rolled with Sam's next question. "Holy water's easy to replace. Holy oil is precious and rare. Don't put it in your hair; no one's gonna buy hair treatments from a greaseball." Dean didn't say it, but he had to agree that Sam did have great hair, much longer than his, silky and shiny with multi-hued highlights. Ruining it with too much oil, no matter how holy, seemed a shame. He focused on gathering up their small supply and stashing it in the footwell behind the passenger seat. 

Minutes later, they were rolling up to the first house. By then, Sam was shifting in his seat with the need to pee, and Dean gave him the visual once-over just for kicks. "Tie a knot – better make it a double knot," he smirked. He walked up to the front door of the small two-story white house and rang the bell. A middle-aged woman with streaked blond hair opened the door after a couple minutes. She seemed wary, and the fact Dean had a nearly a foot of height on her and Sam, more, probably didn't help. 

"Yes? Can't I help you?" she squinted up at him. 

"Hello, Mrs...." Dean consulted his notebook, "Mrs. Hooker." How had he missed that? It was all he could do not to laugh, instead coughing into his fist before he got them thrown off the step. Shooting a sharp look at Sam, he signaled silently for his brother to take over. 

* * *

Sam was relieved when Dean agreed that he shouldn't treat his hair with holy oil: although he'd suggested it, he'd meant it more as a joke. Washing that stuff – his dick twitched at the term they'd coined for something else entirely during their adolescence – out would be a pain he really didn't need.

When they walked up to the house of the first victim, Sam felt increasingly uncomfortable from the pressure of his overfull bladder. Dean greeted the woman who must be the vic's wife, then he handed over to Sam, whose intuition agreed that Mrs. Hooker looked like someone who'd react better to a sympathetic face than a sexy one. She was tiny compared to him, and Sam immediately took on a slightly hunched posture before he stepped forward. 

"Mrs. Hooker," Sam began in a solemn voice, "we received a call from your neighbors that we may be able to help your husband with recovering from a recent incident." 

In a neighborhood like this, someone would have noticed the white hair. Two options played out in his mind: if Mrs. Hooker thought it was friendly concern from one of her neighbors, she'd let them in to listen to what he and Dean had to say or sell, and talk to them in return. If she was on unfriendly terms with her neighbors, she'd ask them in to bitch, which would also result in information. 

"I suppose you should come in," Mrs. Hooker offered with a nervous smile. "My husband will appreciate any help." 

Sam gave her his best wide smile as he entered the house – and then fought hard to keep the smile from derailing into laughter when he read the husband's initials 'T.J.' on the nameplate.

* * *

Now Sam was the one trying not to laugh. When Dean saw the couple's bronze nameplate, he rolled his eyes at Sam over Mrs. Anita Hooker's head. Of all the unfortunate... That, and he was forcibly reminded of all the syndicated reruns he and Sam had sat through as kids, when their dad left them alone. 

As soon as they were seated on the living room couch, Dean 'Smith' introduced himself as the senior vice president of marketing of the company Serpessence, Ltd., and Sam 'Wesson' as his newest sales associate in training. They'd used the names before, and he decided to stick with the familiar. 

Sam likely needed a triple knot by now. Trying not to drone on too long, Dean made up a short company history on the spot, concluding with, "Ma'am, our mission is to turn back the hands of time as well as providing supplemental benefits, with our all-natural hair tonic." He handed one of the bottles over. All-natural, alright: water and a blessing. "I'll let the newest member of our team here cover the finer points, but first, would your husband be available to hear the details of our product? Your neighbors mentioned he's the, ah, person in need." 

Mrs. Hooker's lips tightened; her nostrils flared. Dean gave Sam the briefest sideways glance... and sniff. If his freaky pheromones started throwing the local women into estrus, there would be hell to pay. "Call me Nita. I'm not a ma'am – that's my grandma. Guess those nosy sonsabitches got nothing better to do." Then she sighed, and it was like the fight drained out of her. "Sorry. I wish they'd mind their own business, but they might be on to something. I'll get my husband, TJ... If he's up for it... Wait here." She rose to go. 

* * *

"Uh, Ma'am – I mean Nita," Sam said when Mrs. Hooker made to leave the room. It was too soon to ask for this, but he really couldn't hold it any longer. "Please excuse me, but do you think I may use your bathroom?"

The look he got in return was mostly a deep frown that betrayed Mrs. Hooker's obvious mistrust. However, when she leaned a little closer to him, the expression changed to a warm smile. "Of course, dear," she said. "I'll show you."

Sam shrugged at Dean who'd raised his eyebrows, having no idea what had just happened, either. As he followed their hostess, she prattled on about the house being large enough for the children she and TJ would one day have. When they arrived at the door to what must be the restroom, she put her hand on his arm and patted it.

Sam was still confused when he locked the door behind him. Her whole attitude had suddenly changed toward... motherly. His hand froze on his dick. Hadn't Dean commented more than once on how Sam smelled? Was he giving off weird... pheromones? As in... pheromones indicating pregnancy? Or why had Mrs. Hooker started blabbing about wanting children? He finished his business and washed his hands but barely had time to dry them because he was interrupted by Mrs. Hooker's screech.

"Oh no, TJ, what have you done..."

Sam followed the shrieks and arrived a second before Dean to the sight of a bald man surrounded by clippings of – white – hair.

* * *

The lady of the house didn't much like the idea of a strange man using her bathroom, Dean could tell. She wasn't ungracious enough to tell Sam to wait, however. As the two of them got up and Anita got within smelling distance of Sam, her face changed from put out to something resembling the glazed Stepford couples on the labels Sam had cobbled together. Was that what Dean looked like when he got near and under the intoxicating effects of whatever his brother was oozing from his pores lately? He didn't think he was so vacant and smiley. 

His musing was interrupted by a scream from the back of the house where presumably, Anita had gone to check on her husband. Dean rushed in that direction, but Sam beat him to it. Crowding in, elbowing Sam to the side, Dean caught sight of a bald man with snow-white hair strewn around him on the bed. "Coulda been worse, he used a clipper instead of a scissor," Dean burst out with the first thing that popped to mind. Three pairs of eyes glared at him. "What? Well, I suppose he won't need any sna-, uh, hair tonic for a while?"

Foot in mouth disease, he had in spades. A smooth operator like the senior VP of marketing wouldn't be so inept. "My apologies," Dean hurried on, standing up straighter and lowering his hand, which had reflexively gone to the .45 at the small of his back, to his side. He cleared his throat. "Just took me by surprise, is all. Did I mention that Serpessence also promotes hair growth?"

* * *

One could have heard a pin drop to the floor despite the thick carpet. Sam stared at Dean who in turn stared at Mr. Hooker who was also stared at by his wife. 

"What?" TJ asked after what seemed like an endless time of silence. "I read on the 'Net that hot chicks dig bald men." He smiled at his wife. "And since you're the only hot chick I've ever met..."

"Oh, TJ!" Mrs. Hooker slapped her hand before her mouth and giggled. "I dunno what to say!"

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched. He'd read the term 'crack fic' somewhere and this was exactly what was playing out in front of them. On his brother's face, he found an equally disbelieving expression to what he must have on his own. _Don't laugh,_ he mentally begged himself and Dean, _for fuck's sake, please, just don't laugh._

TJ shook his head. _"Serpessence,_ huh? You two," he nodded toward the Winchesters, "are the worst snake oil salesmen the world could ever imagine. And I'm a used car salesman, trust me I know what I'm talking about. So why don't we all go back to the living room and have a stiff drink. Then you guys will drop the miracle cure crap – and don't bother trying to tell me that your potion promotes dick growth as well – and tell us why you're really here."

* * *

"Okay, fine. You made us," Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "So how about that drink?" Damn, did he ever need a drink. He was also happy to drop the charade.

Long experience had taught Dean that people were way less likely to believe the truth about the hunting business, not to mention what they hunted, than whatever bullshit they used as a cover story. Their dad had drilled into them from day one: don't tell the truth about being hunters. Never, ever. Door-to-door salesmen had been a thin disguise, and as far as him and Sam being spotted in a lie, the saying 'it takes one to know one' was dead on. Hooker had forthrightly admitted being cut from the same cloth.

When they returned to the living room, TJ, still in his pajamas, went directly to the hutch along the wall and drew a big bottle of JD from behind a lower door. "By the way, it's just holy water," Dean said as he took a seat. "The snake oil, I mean, not the hooch. It won't do anything for hair or, uh, size, but it won't hurt you either and it does keep evil away... If you believe in that sort of thing," he added hurriedly. Dean wasn't a Jesus-on-a-tortilla kind of guy, but he'd seen holy water burn vampires and demons many, many times. Hundreds. 

He took the shot glass of amber liquid, waiting till everyone had one. Hm. Everyone. Including Sam. Would he drink it, or ask for milk?

* * *

Sam usually didn't drink hard liquor, and as much as he wanted some now, the smell made him feel slightly nauseous again. "I, um, don't want to be a spoil sport here, but my stomach's been giving me some trouble recently, so..." 

Nita immediately cut in, "Poor darling, would you like some milk? Or I could make you herbal tea. My cousin has an ulcer, and he swears that chamomile tea works miracles for him." She looked at Sam expectantly.

"Thank you, that's very nice of you to offer," Sam replied. "I'm good, but I might have some later," he hurried to add when he saw her face fall. "As for now, maybe I could get some water?"

"My Nita used to be a nurse," TJ said proudly when Mrs Hooker beamed at Sam and went to fetch him a glass of water, "and she really cares about people. Bit of an empath, my girl, and since she let you boys into the house I figure we can trust you. So tell us, what is it that you want from us? And cheers by the way."

While watching everybody else raise their glasses, Sam wondered how to approach their case. TJ was sharp, and despite her Stepford appearance 'Nita' wasn't far behind. Sam opted for honesty – partial honesty, because what the Winchesters really did for a living couldn't be made public, but maybe there was a way to not betray their hunters' secrets and still gain the Hookers' trust.

"TJ, Nita," Sam began, "let me start by apologizing to you. Our work is delicate, which means that we sometimes have to resort to crude measures in order to achieve our goals. We're here on an important assignment, but we're not allowed to share any information with you. Please believe me that this is as frustrating for us as it is for you."

It was all true, and he hoped that their hosts would read it as such. "I know that this is unfair to you, but since you said you trust us, do you think you could tell us, without us explaining why we need to know, what happened before your hair turned white?" Sam looked at TJ. "I swear that we're not here to hurt anybody, quite the opposite, and we can only appeal to your trust."

Sam was sure that Dean was struggling hard to keep his 'I'm-gonna-puke-at-your-puppy-dog-eyes-expression' off his face, and he was impressed by his brother's composure.

TJ and Nita exchanged looks and TJ nodded. "No harm in that, I suppose, as long as you tell us all about it later – if you're allowed to," he amended.

"And as long as you swear to not tell anyone else," Nita added. "Also, before we tell you anything, when you said our neighbors said we need help, was it that bitch Marjorie Wilkinson who sent you here?"

* * *

As soon as Nita returned with Sam's glass of water, Dean joined the others in tossing back his shot. TJ had made it a double and he nodded to the bald man in gratitude. The JD burned pleasantly all the way down. Catching the wordless signal, Dean held out his glass for another round. Sam, meanwhile launched into a little speech so sincere and earnest it made Dean's teeth hurt. Keeping his face carefully blank, Dean didn't let his gaze wander anywhere near his brother, lest he blow this cover, too. Only when Nita brought up her neighbor again, did he speak.

"No, your nosy neighbor is blame-free in this. We get most of our leads off the Internet, or through our... research." TJ was giving him the hairy eyeball again. "I'm sorry, we're not at liberty to say which agency we're working for. But we're here to help." Dean never liked when he had to use that phrase. It reeked of cliche, and people who said that tended to make things worse. He and Sam usually met people who had been hurt, terrorized, lost loved ones – their presence didn't tend to be associated with fun times. Well, other than his long string of women, Dean amended silently. Most of the time, he tried not to think about their work-related clients' messed-up lives. 

He repeated Sam's question. "Can you tell us... Has anything unusual, the unexplainable or frightening kind of unusual, happened to you recently?"

Their hosts exchanged another, longer look. Nita said in a low, pleading voice, "TJ, please tell them." 

"Alright. It's no big secret, I suppose. For about a week before this, I had a lot of bad dreams. Woke up screaming, freaked my wife out something terrible." Nita nodded, clearly remembering those times, stressed. The couple joined hands. 

Dean decided they might give Sam a run for his money, for the sweetness award, but he kept his trap shut about it. He asked, "What sort of dreams? Scary? Did anything recur?" 

TJ's answer was nearly identical to the other vic's from the morning. The main difference was that this man confessed outright that his dreams were mostly sex dreams, and not necessarily about his wife. "Most of my terror was Nita here discovering me in bed with some other woman. Like Marjorie, for example." He looked sheepish. "Well... That and it always ended with me dying. Then I'd wake up. Sometimes," the man's entire face and cranium flushed pink, "I'd be, you know, finishing." 

* * *

Nita squeezed her husband's hand and said softly, "I... no, _we've_ been trying to get pregnant for a few years. Our sex life has suffered from it, you know, eventually it became more of a 'we must do it _now'_ thing, a duty instead of doing it for, uh, fun. So, um, for the past year, we only had sex during my, er, fertile period. And then, all of a sudden, TJ started having these weird dreams."

She wouldn't meet Sam's or Dean's eyes but spoke to TJ. "Remember when there was this... _thing_ that... touched you with its... tentacles? It was so awful!" 

Mr. Hooker shuddered and nodded. "It was like a giant octopus. And one time..." His eyes drilled into Sam's. "Swear that you won't tell anyone."

"I swear," Sam said solemnly. "And if makes this any easier for you, we'll gladly give it to you in writing that none of this will ever be put on file. It's an advantage of our work that we don't have to report details as long as we solve our case."

TJ seemed to relax a little, but he was still tense when he whispered, "One of the things in my dreams was this mythical creature. You know, the Minotaur? Half man half bull. And it... It chased me..."

"Please don't make him say it," Mrs. Hooker pleaded. 

"That's alright," Sam soothed. "We get the gist of the dreams and we understand how much it's costing you to be so open about them. I want to tell you how much we appreciate your honesty and cooperation in such a difficult situation."

He paused before continuing softly, "TJ, Nita, only one more thing. The night TJ's hair turned white. What can you tell us about that night?"

* * *

Listening with, not doubt, exactly, but a sense of having to strain hard to suspend his disbelief, Dean sorted through the limited details. Hearing about a purported giant octo-monster, he thought for a second that perhaps Hooker was a fan of hentai tentacle porn which came through in a dream, but that couldn't possibly have anything in common with a Minotaur. That legend had a different origin entirely. 

Neither the man or lady of the house wanted to get into the more intimate specifics. People tended to clam up when the memory of their experience was either so frightening that it still scared them, when someone or something had threatened them or a loved one with their lives or worse, or when the recollection was mortifyingly embarrassing for them. He supposed talking about one's non-stellar sex life was already embarrassing enough. Sam mostly skipped over that, other than to assure the couple there'd be no permanent record of this conversation. Maybe not word for word, but the signs, observations, recounting, and eventual answers would go into the journal that had been John's and was now theirs. Dean held back his barrage of questions while Hooker pondered the events of the night prior to his hair turning white. 

After another strained silence, Nita burst out. "He was screaming. In his sleep, and right after I woke him up. Totally freaked. He kept repeating, 'No, no, get it out of me'. But he was... finishing. Again." She'd been staring at Sam till the last two words, when she cut her eyes at Dean and blushed a darker red. He didn't want to contemplate a vic developing a crush on him. It had happened before to both him and Sam, starting from the time their voices first cracked. They'd learned to be very careful not to get too close, and to get out fast once the case was solved. Right now, with their own situation so raw, Dean would gladly take it upon himself if it was going to happen. His protective and possessive feelings toward Sam wouldn't be helpful in the least, if he wanted to rip the throat out of anyone who lusted after his... mate. Yup. Animalistic. 

Dean choked that back. "You mean to say he was scared out of his mind, as if he were being literally ra-, er, attacked by some sort of monster in his sleep, yet at the same time aroused enough to, uh. You know." It was juvenile. Dean used the cop-out to save TJ further humiliation. "Let me ask you two things: are you folks religious, at least to where you believe in a god, devil, angels, demons and all that? The other question: were there any marks put on him from the dreams, like bruises, bites, burns, even scratches?"

* * *

TJ and Nita exchanged a look, then she answered, "I wouldn't say we're religious. We go to church on Christmas and I like the story of baby Jesus," she smiled softly, "but that's pretty much it. As for angels, demons, the devil, I think they're mostly inventions by humans to explain stuff that couldn't be explained in the old times." She looked at her husband who nodded.

"As for marks, there's – was – the white hair, but other than that, nothing. The hospital didn't find anything either."

TJ coughed and Nita looked at him, raising her eyebrows in alarm when he blushed. "I... um..." He turned toward his wife. "I didn't want to upset you, and I didn't think much of it, but..." He breathed in deeply and avoided meeting Sam's and Dean's eyes. "I was a bit... sore... You know, down... there."

For no reason – or if there was a reason, Sam couldn't begin to think of what it might be – TJ referring to being sore 'down there' – whatever that meant exactly – sent a sharp spike of arousal through him. What the...?

"Dean," he hissed from the corner of his mouth, hoping that his brother would continue the interview and already dreading having to explain his reaction later.

* * *

'Down there'? Dean was confused. To most men that would mean their junk, but he sensed that wasn't right. Hooker squirmed uncomfortably... Just before it clicked, Sam grunted Dean's name, low, urgent and distressed. That only delayed him for a second. 

"You mean your a-" he cut himself off before actually enunciating 'asshole' or 'anus', not willing to inflict that on anyone in the room. Rather than the vic or his wife, Dean looked over at Sam again. Mistake. Despite avoidance of the subject 99.9 percent of the time, he knew his little brother's range of expressions and body language. The blown pupils, slightly raised upper lip, eyes somehow more tilted and his jaw loosened to hollow his ridiculous cheekbones further, hunched with his legs crossed, sweat breaking out at his temples – Sam was aroused. Like, so horny he might have just jizzed himself, aroused. Dean swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. 

It took all his will to not jump Sam then and there, tear off his clothes and lick, kiss, suck and make love to every part of his body. Face flushing, Dean ignored the demands emanating from his groin. He addressed the anxious couple. "Sorry. I understand what you're saying. You're sitting on the part that hurts. Yeah?" He got a furtive nod. "We-" he waved a hand to indicate himself and Sam, "need to do more research to solve what happened to you for sure. Your recounting has been very helpful. I won't mince words." The sooner he spit it out, the sooner they could work through the process of denial, acceptance, and monster killing. 

"You have probably heard the words incubus and succubus before. Or incubi, succubi, for more than one. Also, sirens, from legend, making sailors crash their ships against rocks following their songs. There could be a hybrid or new breed of something like that in your town, or nearby. A sex demon." There, he'd dropped the bomb. Dean waited for the explosion. Another sidelong look at Sam showed his surprise at Dean's candor over his near-desperate need. Their dad's notes recorded the grisly details how he had run into an incubus years ago, and they could personally vouch for the fact that sirens were very real. They didn't share things like that with civilians, though. Not usually. But Hooker had already seen through their bullshit cover story, and he needed to get Sam the hell out of here. 

There was a long, startled silence. Then, both of the Hookers burst out laughing. TJ slapped his own thigh. "Good one," he wheezed. "Sex demon!" He guffawed so heartily Dean found himself chuckling, a sympathetic reaction. It broke the tension, he supposed. 

Wiping his eyes, TJ settled down some while Nita leaned against her husband's side and continued another minute. She stopped short when TJ said, in a slightly raised voice, "That's just perfect. Can't even knock up my own wife so the thing decides to... to try for me instead?" 

"TJ, no!" exclaimed Nita. She turned pleading eyes on Dean. "Can whatever it is be gay? I mean, are they, ever? Those... demons?" 

Good question. The siren they'd met could take on a male or female appearance, including the associated genitalia, or so he assumed. It was bad enough that he'd shared spit with the thing however indirectly – thank god he hadn't been lured into fucking it. "I – we – don't know for sure. What we dealt with before, it wasn't really either gender; it would look like whatever most appealed to its victims." Dean turned his eyes back on TJ. "I'm assuming that for you, that's not a giant octopus. Or a dude." Just in case, he added, "No judgment if it is." 

Both of their hosts threw sincere signals of denial, and Dean nodded. By now, he was confident he could stand up without making an obscene display of himself. Hopefully Sam had... calmed down as well. "Okay. Thanks again for being so honest. We have no theory on why it chose you. Again, more research. It's time we go. Sam?" 

* * *

Nita had sounded upset when she'd asked whether whatever might have assaulted TJ had made him gay, but Sam sensed that she's asked more out of concern for her husband than potential jealousy. Picket fences and family – he pushed the thought of having children himself firmly from his mind – were not his ideal for life. Sometimes he thought that Dean had a deep and secret longing for it, although that was simply not possible. The couple before him, however, looked as if they could make it work. How often did they encounter broken marriages and other kinds of failed relationships; Sam wished these two would make it. Given how they interacted with each other, he was sure they had a chance.

"We'll be in touch once we figure out what's going on," Sam said. "And if you think of anything in hindsight that could be interesting to us, please don't hesitate to contact us. We're there for you," he assured them with his best smile, and he meant it.

Still, although he was beginning to wonder since when was he so... mellow, he was also unexplainably horny. Dean had obviously picked up on it, and when they'd said their good-byes to the Hookers, he was puzzled when he heard Nita suggest to her husband in a seductive voice, "Poor darling, I didn't know you were sore. Let me lick it better..."

Sam fled from the porch and nearly ran Dean over. "Dean," he gasped, "this... my, um, _need,_ do you think it could be contagious?

* * *

As soon as possible without being totally rude, Sam escaped the house, then the porch, brushing past Dean on his way to the car. Not exactly a small man, Sam's version of 'brush past' was more like a shoulder check and half shove that made Dean have to dance backwards a step. A trail of new, thick pheromones followed in his wake. Left with the final good-byes, Dean shook hands with the Hookers, shrugged in Sam's direction while he mumbled something about how the geek couldn't wait to bury his nose in some musty old books, and took off after his brother.

Dean met him by the Impala, where Sam shifted his feet impatiently. His question didn't make much sense, other than the concept of needs was front and center. 

"Contagious?" Dean repeated, feeling like he had missed something. "Not medically speaking, although..." He looked the tall, broad-shouldered body before him up and down, lingering at the apex of those long, long legs, "you're hot in every sense of the word, and something's certainly got into you. Whatever it is, I think it's infected me, too. Maybe I should take your temperature. How's rectally sound?"

Holy crap, where had that come from? But he wasn't done, oh no. Dean stood there facing his brother, pitching a tent in his pants, listening to himself spew dirty, filthy talk in a progressively deeper, grittier voice. "I could use my finger. Or something bigger. I'll even lube it up so it won't hurt you, not like that poor sorry sucker inside. Show you how much I care about your _needs_. Bet you're like a furnace inside... Get in the car, Sammy, before I molest you in public!"

With that, Dean circled around to the driver's side and got in. His hands were shaking. He wanted so bad to touch. Every spare drop of blood was trapped in his erection, other drops dampening his boxers. To keep himself in check, he started the engine, and nearly lost it when Sam got in butt-first and plopped onto the seat beside him.

* * *

"Maybe not only you but also the Hookers," Sam muttered. "Didn't you hear that Nita's offer to TJ, to lick things better? But then, you weren't as close as I..." He sat in the car and suddenly found himself _very_ close to Dean. Sam's eyes widened. "Whoa, but you weren't kidding me that whatever it is got to you as well."

When Dean elaborated on taking Sam's temperature rectally, not only with his finger but 'something bigger', Sam almost swooned. His hole clenched hard, demanding to be filled. 

"Fuck, Dean," he groaned and noticed distractedly that it sounded like a porn soundtrack. "Motel. Now."

When Dean put his foot on the pedal, Sam's single functioning brain cell caught up with something his brother had just said. "Do you even... Why do you have lube? Or no, you don't have to answer that. Just tell me that we don't have to make a stop at the drugstore. I... can't wait..."

* * *

"Dude, I always have lube. Don't you? 'S under the seat. Never know when you'll need it," Dean informed his passenger, who'd pasted himself to Dean's right shoulder and side. He nearly swerved at something pressing against his thigh, maybe ass, maybe cock, he didn't know and didn't dare look just now, taking a left onto the east-west main drag. Sam's heat melted into him at every point of contact. Deliberately, Dean sped up when they passed the drugstore where he'd bought the pregnancy tests. No need to stop. Hell, he'd go ass-up himself and let Sam do him dry before he stopped the car at any point before their room. But Dean wasn't about to admit such a thing, and he didn't have to, thanks to the KY. 

"Haven't you've ever done anal?" Dean asked. He sounded incredulous, even to his own ears. When they'd fooled around that morning, Sam had confessed never having been taken that way. Good thing, too, or Dean's possessiveness would have spiked off the charts. He could have pitched, though. "Or maybe not, considering what you're packing." Dean removed his hand from the steering wheel long enough to drop it into Sam's lap and start feeling around. Half a second later he encountered the ridge of a massive erection covered by heavy denim about to burst its seams. Sam wanted him. It was exhilarating.

All of his hetero, straight, womanizing training flew out the window. "This dick is mine, Sam." He squeezed, and was rewarded with a moan like rolling thunder. "You think Nita has a dirty mind...? You have no idea. Gonna lick you where the sun don't shine if that's your thing, till you beg for my dick 'cuz it's gonna be all yours, too." Tires squealing, Dean cut across traffic into the motel parking lot. Sam was panting like he'd just passed mile 25 of a marathon; breaths wuffed past Dean's ear, some into the canal. All the tiny hairs and receptors fired on full alert. His balls tightened, and he slammed the heel of his hand down or he'd have come in his pants in the next few seconds. 

"Shit, where's the room key?!" wheezed Dean, braking hard. Baby's suspension would have to forgive him. Right now, he had a brother to tend to. 

* * *

Sam wasn't sure when and how it had happened, but he found himself plastered all over Dean – not that he minded, not at all, but it was still a relief to know that Dean was a capable driver regardless of the circumstances. The fact had saved their lives more than once, and wouldn't it be a waste to die in a traffic accident just moments before they could consummate their need!

The time between Dean saying something and Sam's mind catching up with it got longer the closer they came to their motel. Dean's hand squeezing his erection lured even more blood downstairs – and how was that even possible? It didn't matter. What mattered was the kneading hand on his dick and the promise that Dean would lick him until he begged for Dean's dick. His hole twitched and the pleasure sent another surge of pre-cum into his already wet shorts until he feared it would all be over for him before they even reached their room.

Apparently, Dean was as needy as Sam was, and Sam wondered how they'd ever make it from the car to their room without giving the whole town a show: if Dean was anywhere near as hard as Sam was, neither of them would be able to walk.

He was ready to thank the powers that be when Dean couldn't find the room key. Unfortunately, Sam's brain took the delay as invitation to be brought up to speed and lingered on Dean's question whether he'd ever done anal. Sam gasped when his arousal came to such an abrupt halt that he thought he could hear squealing tires and smell burnt rubber in his mind.

Oh yes, he'd done anal, but these memories were buried deep for a reason. Sam had always found men attractive, but never acted on it because there was only one man in his life, his brother, and that was forbidden ground. No, the times he'd indulged in anal sex were definitely times he didn't want to remember. Ruby had offered herself in that way and he'd driven into her hard, crazy with lust from the demon blood she'd fed him.

In his relationships with women – strike that, his relation _ship,_ singular, with _a_ woman, since Ruby sure as hell wasn't a woman! – Jess, had been governed by romantic sex, 'love-making' rather than passion. Jess had never hinted that she might like to experiment, so it hadn't happened. He may have gotten there with Madison, but they never had the chance. Then there was that doctor – Carla? Carrie? Cara? – who'd probably have liked it, but Sam hadn't wanted any type of repeat performance of their quickie on her desk.

Next to him, Dean began to curse, and Sam forced himself to concentrate and check his pockets – a much easier task now that his erection had flagged by a tiny fraction, thanks to the memory of Ruby. He found the key and peeled it out, then held it out to his brother. That brought him closer to Dean, and like before, he found himself overwhelmed by the scent.

"You smell so good," Sam groaned, his earlier memories all but forgotten. "I wanna lick you all over, Dean." He rubbed his nose against Dean's neck and inhaled, moaning deeply. "Mmmhhh..."

It took all his mental power to withdraw. "Dean, we've gotta get going _now!_ If we're not in our room behind locked doors in the next second, I'm afraid we'll spend the night in jail for indecent exposure and worse."

* * *

Dean had no luck finding the key, not that he could even get his fingers into his pants pockets with the raging boner taking up any extra room. Feeling around on the outside told him he didn't have the damned thing. Luckily, Sam found it on his person so that was one mystery solved. Right now, he couldn't even think about the other mystery, the case. All his blood had fled to his downstairs brain, and Sam's too. A minute later, his brother was smelling him, or maybe _scenting_ him like a wild animal, which sent another surge of lust through Dean.

The thought of Sam's tongue trailing all over him, up his abs, down his back, around his aching dick, didn't help matters. "That's twelve-and-a-half feet of licking," Dean moaned inanely, referring to their combined height. "We'd better get in there... somehow... Make a run for it and get the door open, would you, Sam? I'll get the lube. Dunno how I'm even gonna walk with this thing." Having had his hand on Sam's 'thing', Dean was positive his brother knew exactly what he meant.

* * *

"'Make a run for it?'" Sam snorted. "How do you suggest I _run_ with this!" He pointed at the tent in his crotch. "You don't have to answer that. Unless you feel like running yourself and want to show me. No? Thought so," he smirked. 

"I guess the easiest way would be taking care of it right here and now," Sam challenged. "But since we agree that we need to keep a low profile..." He opened the door and turned sideways so that his feet were out on the ground, then wiggled out of his suit jacket. Folding it, he held it in front of his body and stood.

Immediately, a groan escaped from his lips, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "Ungh, by the time I get the door to our room open, I'm afraid I'll be a girl again..."

* * *

Dean bit back a moan when he went to emulate Sam's 'camouflage' technique. His own pants were threatening to emasculate him; leaning forward in the seat to try to shrug his jacket off was a no-go, said his balls. "Just as soon you arrive with all of your parts intact," he answered in a low voice as Sam stood. 'Intact' carried additional meaning in regards to his little brother, who was uncircumcized where Dean was cut, typical Midwestern American style. Strange – to his knowledge, neither sibling had ever questioned John on why the difference. Some subjects, one just didn't broach with their dad. 

Waiting for Sam to hobble into the room with his jacket held more obviously than innocently in front of his crotch, Dean decided to first, enjoy the show, and second, make a break for it, public decency be damned. It was only ten feet or so to their door; he could cover that much ground in five seconds, easy. By some miracle, he remembered to scrounge under his seat for his current stashed bottle of Astroglide, but then he'd allocated it as his job and Dean always did his job. All those things he said he'd do to Sam in bed, those were his job, too, only with those, Dean could hardly wait. 

And speaking of hard: the laugh lines radiating from the outer corners of Dean's eyes deepened, watching Sam hunch, shuffle, and gimp his way to the door, victim of his over-stimulated junk. Sam nearly dropped the key, missed the keyhole in the door knob, then his 'cover' slid enough to reveal the outline of his dick in full salute behind his fly and Dean was so out of there. He paid no attention to the painful strangulation between his own legs. Of them, Sam was by far the more modest and shy about his body – why, Dean hadn't a clue. He loved that body, now that he'd had a taste. He _would_ love that body, if they could just get into the room! 

By the time Dean crowded up behind him, practically humping his butt, Sam managed to fumble open the door and they both rushed in headlong. Dean kicked it shut behind them. He inhaled more than a lungful of Sam's pheromones, the tangy, musky notes threading into his arousal-singed blood. They were so close now he could feel his brother's body heat. Wild-eyed, he took in the sharp little peaks of erect nipples and stepped forward to yank off Sam's tie. "Naked... now!" he rasped. Dean undid three buttons of Sam's shirt, pulled the tails out, then ran his fingers up the bare, hot skin of that toned torso. "Yesssss...! Oh my god." 

The bed closer to the door was only a few steps away, and Dean walked his brother backwards to it, letting him sprawl when the backs of his legs hit the edge. Dean tossed the half-full bottle beside him and loosened his belt. Next, his fly, his rigid dick demanding some room. However naked they were or weren't, he couldn't stand any further delay. Crawling onto the bed, he lay down on his side next to Sam so their faces were level. "Can I kiss you?" Dean asked, probably for the first time in his life. Sam had _asked_ it of him earlier and it had gotten him off so hard. 

* * *

One day, Sam was sure, they'd crack up with laughter over their awkward flight from the car to the room. Hunters died young, but even in the unlikely event they somehow made it to their nineties, wearing diapers and demented to the point of forgetting their own names, this moment would forever be ingrained in their memories. 

This moment and the expression on Dean's face as he asked if he could kiss Sam. Sam didn't answer in words. He leaned in and initiated the kiss, gently at first, but Dean's fiery passion immediately pulled him along in its wake, and soon their tongues were – 'fucking': it was the only word that could even begin to describe what they did.

When they finally pulled apart for breath, Sam's dick was so hard that it was painful, and his nipples were throbbing violently. Still, even more than wanting, needing to have his dick touched and his hole filled, he yearned for something else.

"Dean," Sam pleaded hoarsely, "would you... suck my... nipples?"

* * *

Sam didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. In the multi-color eyes, the confirmation of 'yes' followed by gentle lips meeting his gave Dean free reign to delve into Sam's mouth. Pulling him onto his side so they were facing, Dean pressed into his brother's larger body and kissed his open lips over and over. He licked the inner borders, then past the contrasting enamel of his teeth, further to where Sam's tongue met his. So slick, insistent, the play of pliant-then-prodding surfaces that curled and extended, retreated and surged. 

Already Dean could barely breathe. Pulling back to catch some air, he ground his hips into Sam's, bumped his knee between Sam's, studied every facet of arousal and need. Flushed and sweaty, his usually-composed little brother twitched with trying to thrust his erection against Dean's and spread his legs at the same time. He had other needs, though, one more immediate. The demand to have his nipples sucked waved the proverbial red cape for Dean. Rearing up, he pushed Sam onto his back. That floppy long hair flew everywhere. "Hells yeah! I'll suck anything you want!" 

Remaining buttons be damned, Dean grasped the two sides of Sam's white dress shirt and yanked it open. He wore a tee-shirt on underneath, which Dean pushed up to Sam's neck. His little buds were painfully tight, red, swollen. The question was which one first. "I need another mouth," was Dean's only comment. With the one he had, Dean latched on to the nearest, lying himself down on top of his lover, the only way he could think of to keep Sam reasonably still. The pheromones were stronger there, like he could taste as well as smell them and Dean couldn't get enough. The hard nub between his lips, Dean lashed at it with his tongue, sucked hard, did it again. His free hand pinched the other, rolling it back and forth, every so often giving a sharp jerk. 

Sam was utterly beside himself, moaning open-mouthed and loud, so loud. His dick jabbed Dean in the belly, and Dean loved feeling every pulse against him. Wrestling out of his pants and underwear and kicking that with his shoes off, Dean sighed in relief. At last, freedom of movement. Not nearly enough relief, otherwise. Sam's other nipple needed his attention now; Dean shifted over, kissed it, and sucked down. From below, Sam bucked hard enough to throw him off – almost. "Nuh-uh, Sam... Getting what you wanted," he growled. "Want this?" 

Wondering why he just now thought of it, Dean reached between them. Into Sam's fly, into his boxer briefs, which were wet over the entire head of his cock and then some. "Guess you do." Another drop of his own leaked out, which Dean groaned aloud in pleasure but made busy with reaching lower. Sam's sac was drawn up tight around the hardened glands inside. Always helpful, Dean rolled, tugged, pressed them down a little, sucking the bright-red point of Sam's left nipple at the same time. "Got big balls, buddy... Lotta juice..." Just saying it, knowing it, turned Dean on to no end. "Can't wait for you to splatter it all over me." 

* * *

Dean's eyes shone with love and desire as he pushed Sam on his back and then lay on top of him, so that he had Sam's lower body efficiently pinned. Being immobilized aroused Sam even further, and the pressure of Dean's hip on his dick was going to make him lose it in no time!

Without ceremony, Dean pulled Sam's dress shirt open, ignoring the flying buttons, and pushed his tee up. Sam was panting, his need growing to an unheard of intensity while Dean endlessly worshiped Sam's chest with his eyes before he finally, _finally!_ showed mercy and gave the first nub a tentative lick. Within less than a second after that, he sucked down hard on it and Sam keened. Rearing up in a vain attempt to push his tortured little bud deeper into his brother's mouth, he squirmed and moaned. Fluids were flowing freely from his throbbing erection in what felt like a series of mini-orgasms every time Dean bit down on his nipple.

He took a wheezing, shuddering breath when Dean let go of one side and immediately latched onto the other, and drove him crazy again. Tendrils of fire licked from Sam's chest to his balls that were so tight that Sam feared they'd curl up inward. The full glands hurt so good, just like his nipples did under the sharp assault of his brother's tongue and teeth.

Sam had always wondered and dreamed what sex with Dean would be like, but actually feeling it surpassed his keenest expectations. He doubted that even a sex demon could have more spectacular skills than his brother had.

Then, Dean had another idea; he wiggled his hand down Sam's pants. It took a little force to get it past the raging erection, but the load of slick Sam had spewed by now helped ease the way. When Dean rolled and squeezed Sam's heavy balls, Sam cried out in bliss. The pressure on his nipple let up for a moment and he let out a disappointed whine that increased in pitch and volume when Dean massaged his balls down, thus preventing him from climaxing.

However, it was too late when Dean announced, _"Can't wait for you to splatter it all over me."_

Despite Dean's iron grip on Sam's family jewels that should have made any contraction of his spermatic cords impossible, they tightened painfully and forced out a jet of semen that was so thick that Sam thought it would burst his inner tubings. The second blast hit, then the third, fourth, countless pumps of thick fluid were ejected from his dick as his body twitched and jerked against the strong hold Dean had on him.

He screamed through the first few loads, then his body tensed up so much in order to prolong his climax that even his diaphragm froze. "Nipples," Sam mouthed, hoping that Dean would catch on, which he did, immediately, and Sam's vision turned gray as he came again. He couldn't feel his arms and legs any longer, was reduced to the sweet agony radiating from the swollen nubs on his chest to his dick that kept pumping out fluid until his balls tightened in vain, trying to spit out more, but coming up emptier than he could have ever thought possible.

"Shit, Dean," Sam finally managed to whisper when the spasming slowly began to subside. "Stay on top of me, will ya? I'll fly off the bed otherwise..."

* * *

In his whole life, Dean had never experienced another person climaxing so hard. Seconds after Dean started messing with his balls, Sam lost it, screaming his head off as he came and came and _came_. So much jizz filled Dean's hand and his brother's shorts it was almost unnatural, but so incredibly sexy, along with the writhing and begging for more nipple play that Dean nearly creamed himself, too. He kept Sam pinned to the bed as best he could, put his head down on Sam's firm chest to take a stiff bud in by suction. His taste was sweeter, post-orgasm. 

"Sam... That was..." Besides with an assortment of blasphemous expletives, Dean couldn't begin to describe his pleasure and joy at witnessing, causing Sam's sexual release at his hands. As it was, his right hand was still down Sam's pants where it seemed like he was still pumping out a few last weak spurts. "You're the best... Loved seeing you give it up for me, how much you came," Dean murmured. His thighs, ass, lower back and especially his balls tensed with the need to come. Insinuating himself between Sam's legs, he ground down in languid gyrations, as slow as he could stand, anything to draw it out and not lose control. 

For the moment, the lids were down over his eyes, and Sam shivered intermittently. "Was it good...?" Dean whispered. He kissed Sam's chest, up to his neck, drew his sticky hand out and wiped it on the side of Sam's wrecked shirt. "I... I gotta come soon... Hurts... Won't ask you for anything you don't wanna give." Shit, he sounded like he was so whipped. But what was a man to do when his junk felt like molten rock and about as hard and heavy as cold iron at the same time? "I want you, Sammy. Now. Please." 

* * *

His body was still twitching with aftershocks and Sam had tunnel-vision, but he could feel and see the only things that counted: Dean's hands holding him and Dean's face, giddy with desire and... pride? Yes, that was it, that kittenish 'I-found-the-cream-jug' look on his brother's face spoke of love and pride to have made Sam lose it so spectacularly. Sam agreed wholeheartedly: he hadn't had much sex in his life, but although some of it had been really good, he'd never experienced anything like this before.

Some of Dean's words filtered through the haze in his brain and made him smile: _"You're the best... Loved seeing you..."_

And then, _"I want you, Sammy. Now. Please."_

Sam's eyes widened. Had he ever heard his brother ask, beg for anything before in his life? "You don't have to beg me, Dean. I want to give you anything. Everything." 

He blinked. His balls were so drained that they hurt, but Sam still felt a tingling sensation deep in his body that suggested he could go again. It shouldn't be possible, but he wanted, desired. "Want you, too," he whispered. "Now. And since I'm all loose, I'm ready for you."

Sam swallowed. "I want you to claim me as yours," he said slowly, "but I want to see your face when you come."

* * *

"Not begging," Dean countered gruffly. "Asking nicely." He grinned, as Sam's explicit version of 'yes' filtered into his brain. _...All loose... ready for you..._ Coming like a fire hose had revoked Sam's filter, and he loved that, too. "Sure you're all relaxed, but I'll take good care of you anyway," Dean informed him. In the future, he'd remember to be more bossy. "Thought you said you never did it that way... How do you know about being relaxed?" 

Dean had had to figure out what he later learned people referred to as 'prep' or 'prepare' on his own, probably to the consternation of some few sex partners. It took till he was 21 to find a woman willing to let him do her, anal. So he wasn't hung like a bull moose like Sam, he wasn't small, and more off-putting for that, perhaps, he had a wide cockhead and base. Then one adventurous chick – what the hell was her name again, oh right, Stephanie, all of 18 to his 25 – had turned around on him from hands and knees, informed him he'd better learn to properly toss the salad, and demonstrated. It had only been two of her slender gloved fingers; it had still burned. That he'd been tense went without saying. What was it she'd said in that clinical, dispassionate voice from above? "You have a low-situated prostate." Then she'd pressed down harder, rubbed her fingertips so expertly he couldn't say stop till he came all over the sheet. That he'd escaped and it had never happened like that again went without saying. 

Hitching up a bit and shaking off the cobwebs of the past, he took those soft pink lips again. A hand fisted loosely in the soft strands of Sam's hair, Dean mapped out his mouth, inside, outside, with his tongue. Sam's kisses were pliant, affectionate, almost lazy. Since his urgency had abated – for now – the fierce dueling of earlier was more one-sided. 

Meanwhile, Dean's desire to bury himself in his brother overwhelmed him. He tossed his shirt with shaking hands. Completely naked, Dean hissed as cooler air caressed his nipples, tightly erect and pale pink upon his freckled pecs. Never one to be shy about his body, he encouraged Sam to look at him by kneeling up, one hand between his legs to ease the pressure just a little. Maybe he wasn't the chiseled men's fitness model Sam had turned into the last few years, but he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of, happy to let his brother's keen eyes rove over his landmarks: panting lips; chest; the thin happy trail down his belly; purple-headed dick, every vein fluttering and glistening with dribbled precome; thick thighs wide apart to accommodate his swollen balls. He didn't need to ask if Sam liked what he saw – the visual once-over told him their physical attraction was definitely, erotically, mutual. 

Next came the battle of Sam's pants, which had twisted to the side somehow and clung to him damp and sticky on the inside. It just didn't work well with Dean back between his spread legs. Finally he rolled off again and yanked Sam's lower garments down and off past his feet. 

Not pausing to think about what exactly was going to happen next or how, Dean lowered his body over Sam's once again. Now it was just them, skin on skin, hair, muscle, scars, junk, everything bare. Grabbing the lube, Dean popped the lid. "Sam, you know what happens now, right?" A grunt of yes assured him he didn't have to explain, at least. There was one thing Dean had seen in porn that he'd never done, which he thought would help ease Sam's way and make him hard again. This first time, at least, Dean didn't want to do it if – until – Sam was every bit as turned on as him. 

Dean squirmed downwards again. Hands on Sam's thighs, he tapped once and pushed them wider. He'd done that move hundreds of times, but this was so different. The hairiness, the sheer size and muscle, and his face down near Sam's crotch, he inhaled the cloud of musk but bypassed his still-soft organs, knowing that it might be too much sensation. Slicking his first two fingers, he touched the little pink hole. Sam grunted like he'd been kicked, but when Dean glanced up, startled, he saw only eagerness and trust. He stroked across the opening, feeling how it quivered. "God, Sam, I can't wait!" 

But he had to do his part. It was torture to wait; Dean stilled the instinctual humping motions his pelvis was making against the bed and slid a finger through the tight clutch of Sam's rim and up into him. It was surprisingly easy, so Dean added his middle finger right away. No distress signals, only a slight raising of his ass, from Sam, so Dean began to stretch his fingers apart. He noticed that Sam's dick was twitching, filling with every twist and prod, so he kept it up, soon three fingers deep. Then there was that one more thing: ignoring the lube taste, Dean bent further and applied his tongue to the stretched ring of muscle surrounding his digits. He flicked with decisive little licks around his knuckles and between his fingers. Sam was squeezing him, pushing down rhythmically, and the pressure...! 

"Enough," growled Dean between clenched teeth. He could only hope it was. Beads of sweat trickled down his back, so distracting. Yet his focus was on coating himself in a thin layer of lube, and then... "Sammy..." Dean guided himself to the fluttering little hole that would mean Sam was his in body as well as words. "Gonna claim you..." 

The final stretch to accommodate his flared head was rough, he could see it in the knitted brow and bulging tendons in Sam's neck, though Sam didn't make a sound. The first inch took forever, then suddenly the worst was over and Dean was sliding in, in, till he bottomed out. "Ohmygawd..." Dean breathed. "It's so... You're..." Tilting his head up, so weird he crashed his mouth on Sam's. His body took over. Everything he'd been holding back for too long surged through him, and he thrust, hard. Sam moaned like he was dying and Dean paused long enough to ask, "C'n you take it...?" 

* * *

Sam grinned. _"Dude._ I went to school in Cali. It's hard to not know about prep if you've lived in a dorm for a while." He turned serious. "And I know you'd never hurt me," Sam added. "Otherwise, well, I don't think I could relax if it wasn't for you."

They didn't talk after that but kissed for a long time, and then, somehow managed to get naked, and _then,_ Sam could only stare at his brother's body. Oh sure, they knew each other – not in the biblical sense, at least not yet though that was about to change – but brushing past each other hurriedly in the bathroom, fighting for first dibs on the shower didn't really count. So Sam had thought he knew what Dean looked like, but being allowed – invited – to look closely, was a revelation. 

Sam's mouth watered at the sight of the hollow in Dean's neck that was met at the sides by his collarbones. A fine, sculpted chest was underneath, and his eyes followed the soft skin with only a hint of fine blond hairs to stiff pink nipples. He moaned and reflexively thrust his hips when the memory of only a few minutes ago flooded his mind, with the image of Dean's mouth on his stinging little nubs, and his dick filled with blood.

However, Dean's needs were too urgent for Sam to linger for long. The musky scent emanating from his brother's groin made Sam's nostrils flare, and the expression on Dean's face told him that Dean was having a similar experience. While Sam lay back, Dean moved down his body and inhaled him deeply. Dean's eyes looked wide and slightly unfocused when he announced what was going to happen, and Sam nodded.

Seconds later, Dean's fingers brushed against his hole. Sam flinched with both desire and weirdness. He'd touched himself there a few times, but the only other person who'd ever touched him there – besides the urologist earlier – was, well, not a person but a wraith. Saying that he hadn't enjoyed it was the understatement of the year, and he tried to force his thoughts away from this particular memory. He needn't have worried, though, because the moment it hit him that this was _Dean's_ finger – _fingers_ actually – every thought other than that fled from his brain as pleasure spiked in his ass and zinged through his whole body. 

Fully erect again – how was that even possible? – he ground down against the invading digits and gyrated his hips, clenching around the intrusion. Dean didn't ask for further invitation. He lined up and pushed slowly against the tight rim until Sam bore down and let him in. Dean kissed him and it helped for a moment, but it still hurt like a bitch. A deep groan left his mouth, and he couldn't tell if it was from pleasure or pain; somehow he wasn't sure there was a difference at all.

"Dean, omygawd!" Sam echoed, then made a grunt or a howl, whatever it was, it was the most indignified sound he could ever remember tearing loose from his throat. Dean pulled out and slammed in again, stammering the question whether Sam could take it, but Sam didn't need to reply: his body's reaction was all answer Dean could need.

Oh, he'd heard about the prostate and he knew he had one, but till this moment, Sam had had no idea what that really meant. Now, Dean stroked a place deep inside him that made him see stars. His body bucked helplessly, and he was reduced to a moaning bundle, clutching hard at his brother's body and rubbing his aching dick against Dean's firm abs while he babbled and begged, "Oh god, Dean, please do that again, please, please, so good, please..."

* * *

Sam's answer was to grip Dean with both hands, both legs, arch his back and impale himself further. So that was how it was going to be, balls-out and rough. Dean drove in harder. This, he knew how to do: how to move his ass and thrust and fuck. Muscle memory. Instinct. Pleasure. Surviving the hunting life this long assured the strength of their bodies, with the stamina to back it up. God, he needed this! 

Whatever he was doing, it must have been good for Sam, too – he rode Dean's dick from the bottom, tight and hot and perfect slippery friction. Dean accelerated his thrusts, faster, harder, more sensation, anything to get them closer. His balls felt leaden, drawn up tight and so ready to shoot.

Gyrating like a pole dancer, Sam gave himself fully in a way that thrilled Dean as 'just sex' never had. Grabby hands all over his back and clutching his butt made him feel owned; he'd never wanted that before, possibly a reason he'd preferred doggy-style or any version of 'cowgirl' most of his adult life. And the sounds! Ever since Sam's voice had stopped cracking years ago, Dean had been marginally aware of the grunts, little growls, huffs, and snorts Sam made as punctuation, or louder under strain. All that – loud, unrestrained and dripping with sex – yeah, it fucking excited him to the core. He could feel Sam grinding his erection against his stomach; it leaked all over them. "You're so fucking wet for me," he groaned, another thing he'd never imagined saying to a dude. 

Then he hitched up, trying to get his knees braced better, and Sam went wild. Like before, Dean used his weight and position for leverage to hold Sam in place, easier said than done as his brother writhed up against him, sweaty skin slipping from his grip. All the sparring they'd done as kids and teens had at times been hormone-infused. Two healthy young men in close bodily contact, someone's gonna pop wood. This act, naked and and joined in sexual lust, love, whatever, represented the delayed culmination. Only, they had yet to hit the ultimate peak. Dean took firm hold of Sam, one hand on his shoulder, the other underneath to cup his ass. While he still could, Dean bent down to tongue the stiff peaks on Sam's heaving chest a few more times.

He couldn't help but grin like a lunatic at the moans filling his ears, all the better because it was real. Sam wouldn't fake, any more than Dean would. He pulled back and shoved in again, sharp jabs of his hips, every one bringing more racket from below. "You like that, huh? Fuck yeah you do... Feel so good under me, all over me. Look at you, Sam, takin' it," apparently his filter was off now, too, "so needy, so loving..." Shit, he'd gone there, but it only intensified the itching tingle Dean had been ignoring for too long. Sam's eyes flew to his face, a form of his 'go' word attracting his attention. Yeah, Dean knew about that, conceptually, at least, how Sam refused to separate sex from love. "...and I'm loving you, too, I love you... Oh gawd...!" 

No way he could hold back any more. Dean dragged a deep breath into his lungs. With every ounce of his strength, he pounded into Sam, holding his stare, daring him to watch Dean's orgasm in his eyes. So fucking close, he could taste it. Dean started to shake, hips stuttering. "I'm gonna cum... Gonna fill you up..." It started, the rush and explosive release: his balls compacting in on themselves, the gush of his load, then another and another. Dean cried out wordlessly, helplessly, buried deep inside his brother and pouring out his love. "Cum with me, Sam...!" he managed. 

* * *

Where Sam had been groaning deeply a minute ago when Dean had invaded him, he now emitted sounds that came closer to the grunts, snarls, and hisses a wounded animal would give off – a being acting on instinct only, expressing its basic need for relief. Sam's need for relief was of another kind, but at least as urgent. 

When Dean changed his position to lick at Sam's swollen and throbbing nipples, he thrust into his brother at a different angle and hit Sam's prostate – it couldn't be anything else – dead-on, making him scream at first. The air left Sam's mouth, but the waves of pleasure were so intense that he couldn't breathe in much air before the next yowl tore loose from his throat.

On and on it went. If Sam hadn't shot himself dry only a few minutes ago, he'd have cum over and over already, but now he was torn between overstimulation and desire. In addition to the friction on his stretched-to-its-limit rim, there was a burning sensation deep inside his ass. It was somewhat unpleasant, but he also couldn't get enough of it. Describing how it felt was impossible, but it brought on an uncontrollable urge to piss – which he couldn't, not with the raging hard-on – and shoot his wad at the same time. 

And yet, what with his wrung-out balls, Sam knew he needed more stimulation. "Dean, oh god, oh god, please make me cum," Sam cried out in bliss and desperation. "Need your hand, please..."

* * *

That Sam asked for, pleaded for his help drilled another frission of lust into Dean's guts. His brother was both tough and proud, and never let go of his independence unless things were really bad... or really good. Or maybe both. Sam looked halfway between torture and ecstasy, close to tears. 

"Not gonna... leave you hanging," Dean panted. Before he'd finished pumping the last dregs of his seed, he raised up and to one side just enough to get his hand between them. Sam's dick jerked at the touch. Slick and hot, the silky-hard thickness of it fit Dean's hand perfectly. He curled his fingers around, marveling in the similarities and differences between them – Sam was all veiny, dripping, mushroom-headed power. His foreskin blended into the rest of the thinner skin covering the shaft, all pulled tight. 

After a quick rediscovery, Dean moved his palm across the cylindrical surface, up, then down, catching the generous pre-cum as lube. Sam's garbled stream of moans and grunts turned frantic. Just as frantic, Dean stroked his Sammy's cock, hell-bent on his brother's pleasure. "C'mon... Let it go for me, Sammy. You need it so bad... Let it go..." 

He'd not yet softened much, but Dean could feel how Sam's hole rippled around his dick, squeezing tighter as he got closer. He had to make it good. Now. The need to bring Sam the same incredible blessed release drove Dean to hasten his strokes, hand flying over the taut, red skin, and to bend down and suck the little rock-hard bud between his lips for a few more pulls. Wild-eyed, Sam tossed his head side to side, thighs open wide and shaking, abs crunched into ridges, hipbones in sharp evidence, thrusting up into Dean's hand like he'd die if he didn't come. "That's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen... or heard. God he's so fucking beautiful... his passion... " Dean had already spoken the thought into words before he realized it. He blushed, swallowed, and went on, "It's OK... For you to cum, Sam. Love you so much." 

* * *

With Dean's hand working him and Dean's dick pulsing in his hole as he came, Sam's cup ran over – so to speak if he'd been capable of speaking, but he wasn't. His shrieks on approaching the edge turned into deep moans again as he drowned in his brother's love, the peak of pleasure shaking his body so hard that only Dean's solid, warm weight held him in place and kept him from coming apart.

"Nuh, Dean," he groaned as his balls emptied themselves over his brother's hand, contracting in vain when there was nothing more to give, yet his dick and whole lower body continued to throb. His cheeks were wet with tears – when had that happened? – but Sam didn't care: these were tears of passion, of the infinite love he felt for his brother. 

And then the miracle happened. Dean, his brother Dean, who'd rather bite his tongue off than admit to feelings, said it: _"Sam. Love you so much."_

Sam's throat tightened up with emotion. "Love you, too," he sobbed. "God, Dean, I love you so much!" He wrapped his arms around his brother and time came to a standstill.

* * *

"Hey, hey... I got you. Got you, Sammy." Beside himself, Sam rode out his climax but continued to spasm after he'd spurted his balls dry. He grabbed on like a drowning man, crying without even knowing it, Dean was sure. "You're okay, you're alright," Dean soothed him. He rolled them both to their sides, facing, unmindful of the mess. A tangle of limbs, they panted in tandem like they'd just survived the most strenuous hunt of their lives. 

Coming down from his own orgasm while dealing with Sam's fall-out stretched Dean's reserves – at this point, he was usually pulling on his clothes and making his escape. "Fuck, man. That was..." There were no words. "Why didn't we do that years ago?"

* * *

Dean rolled them on their sides and spoke to him. 

"Whu...?" Sam's voice failed him; all he could do was drunkenly smile at his brother like a lovesick loon. "Tha... Dunno..."

Now that Dean asked him why they'd never done 'that' before, Sam agreed that it was a good question. He'd always been secretly in love with Dean. Was it possible that Dean had harbored similar feelings for him over all the years?

"Dean," he whispered, relieved that at least his brother's name came out as it should, "if... If you'd have asked me to do this at any time in our lives, I'd have said yes to you..." Overcome by his emotions and afraid of Dean's response, Sam closed his eyes.

* * *

Sam had always wanted him. The knowledge was a kick to the groin at his own stupidity. All the years they – no, that Dean – had wasted. When Sam had asked his first tentative questions he'd only been 12 or 13, a bit older when Dean allowed himself to be talked into a demonstration of the fine art of self-pleasure. They'd had a few sessions of lending helping hands, so to speak, always when John was long gone and they'd danced around it for weeks. Where Dean had chalked the mutual hand-jobs up to youthful experimentation and carefully extracted himself from further incestuous thrills, Sam, he now knew, had never wished to stop. Bottom line, Dean's compartmentalizing that time and those feelings and shutting them away had caused his brother the pain and despair of unrequited love for more than half his life. And he'd never said a word. 

"Sam..." Voice raw, Dean tried to respond in a way that wouldn't figuratively kick Sam in the nuts but was still honest. "I... I stopped what we did as kids out of guilt. You know: 'incest, bad'. Or fear: Dad woulda killed me if he'd have found out. And so I shoved it all down, how good it felt. How I felt. Made myself forget. I'm... sorry. I wish to god you'd said something, or I hadn't been such a dumb-ass. No wonder I never fell in love before."

He could tell Sam was listening, but his brother had shut his eyes, a gesture of self-preservation. Dean kissed each of his eyelids. "You don't have to hide it from me anymore." 

* * *

"Dean, wait. Don't apologize, you have no reason for that. Remember that I never told you either." Sam sighed softly as Dean kissed his eyelids: they'd been drunk on desire and need only minutes ago, but now the gentleness of Dean's lips made Sam feel loved as he'd never been loved before.

"You were right to shove it down. If we'd have acted on it... Dad would have found out, and he'd have separated us for the rest of our lives – if he hadn't killed us, both of us, right there and then."

Sam rubbed his nose against Dean's and kissed his lips. How was it possible that a man's lips could be so soft? "I'll never again hide from you how much I love you. As for the rest of the world..." He swallowed. "I don't think it's a good idea to let anyone know. We're exposed enough already, being the Winchesters and all. Although I somehow doubt that our fellow hunters will consider being gay Winchesters much worse than being Winchesters in the first place," he concluded dryly. "Still, I don't want to see you being hurt for our love."

* * *

"We've always said 'fuck them' about what the rest of the world thought. Same applies here," Dean stated. He looked into his brother's luminous eyes and blinked. This much closeness was making him twitchy. When Sam said the words 'our love', he squirmed like a scolded puppy. "I won't be hurt; you were. I'm the big brother. I should've made you tell me... somehow. But no use crying over spilled milk." 

Restless to either get up and work or _get it up_ for more if either of them were even capable, Dean smirked. The familiar twist of double entendre made him tip his chin up. "I'd rather have you crying and spilling like you did five minutes ago, Sam Winchester." 

* * *

For a moment, Sam held his breath, not sure how Dean would react to being called 'gay', but Dean didn't appear insulted by the term. However, Sam sighed when Dean pointed out that since he was the big brother he was responsible for not admitting to his feelings before. Then again, Sam agreed that it was a case of crying over spilled milk. Still, as Dean tended to feel guilty for everything including stuff that he really wasn't responsible for, Sam needed to reassure his brother.

"I wasn't hurt, De," he confided. "I dunno... Back then, I'm not even sure I'd have responded to you. I was too afraid of Dad." He cringed. "He was always upset with me, regardless of what I did, and the last thing I wanted was to draw his attention to my emotions. For you." Sam smiled painedly. "He and Mom were the only kind of love he'd ever accepted. Imagine what he'd have done if I'd have admitted feeling anything for you beyond brotherly love."

He sighed. "Well, he can't hurt us anymore. Don't get me wrong, I loved Dad, but I love you in a sense that he'd never have condoned. As for crying and smirking, well, I'll be happy to, but I may need another second. Or another month." Sam grinned. "Then again, with you around..."

He leaned in for a kiss and put his hand on Dean's limp and wet dick. "Talk to me, little Dean..."

* * *

One of Sam's reasons for saying nothing, their dad's possible reaction, matched Dean's. He couldn't in all honesty say he'd carried the same intense desire the entire time. He'd buried it so deep he couldn't accurately measure it during those years of repression. In retrospect, Dean came to the conclusion that the unresolved issues between him and Sam had led to his bed-hopping and avoidance of relationships. Resting post-coital in bed with a woman never gave him any sense of satisfaction like it did, with Sam. It had never fit right, not even with Cassie, and he'd developed something bordering on real that one time. Compared to this, though, it paled. 

Sam was lying about not being hurt. While Dean hadn't experienced it in the same manner, he could well imagine how the daily slap in the face would grind his brother down. Bitchface had originated long before Sam had hit puberty, but he'd certainly added to his repertoire after they'd stopped anything sexual. However, it wasn't like Dean could force Sam to admit more than he had. It was bad enough to know. Since the blame was his, he would carry it. If Sam wasn't going to get all moody about it, Dean wouldn't, either. 

A kiss on his lips and a hand on his depleted junk interrupted his momentary angst. "Little? He's not _that_ little. Maybe not a Mega-schlong like that thing you pack but I've had no complaints." Dean assumed Sam could read through his mock outrage. Thanks to all of the earlier whacking off to keep themselves decent in public – limited success rate, but still – his dick gave a few weak twitches and chubbed to half-staff but no more. "Might need a week or an hour myself. How 'bout you, got another round in you? I could..." Suddenly what Dean was about to say hit his brain and he turned pink but charged ahead, one eyebrow up, "suck your dick for a while. Or, uh, eat you out. How'd you like that, huh Sammy?" 

* * *

Of course, Dean didn't believe him. Sam sighed. "Dean... You did not hurt me. If I was hurt, it was by the whole situation, but I never felt refused by you. By the time I understood that I was in love with you, I was old enough to also understand the implications. If I'd have admitted my love, we'd have been separated, which would have been much worse. You were always there for me, remember? And when... Stanford... If one of us should feel guilty it's me for running. You know that I didn't run from you but from Dad, but I left you alone, and that's a fact that I regret more than anything else in my life."

Dean turned to joking again, but Sam wasn't finished. _"Little_ Sam is still wrung out, but I'm sure he'll be up again soon begging for your attention. Until then..." Sam bit his lip. "Dean, I wasn't always there for you, but I need you to be there for me. I know you will – and I know that you don't like to 'talk', but please, hear me out this time." He drew a deep breath.

"With... this... We both know it's impossible, but we've seen the impossible happen. If I'm..." He couldn't say the word. "If there's... a baby growing inside me, it's yours, too. It would need you, especially since... Men aren't supposed to carry a child, nor give birth. I may not survive this, Dean." Sam's eyes widened with fear. "If I don't, I need you to be there for... her, him."

He clutched at Dean's arms. "I can't do this without you."

* * *

Any idiot could've seen the rising panic in Sam's face and demeanor. If Dean had been the one in his position, he'd have been pacing and ranting, looking for a fight, or dead drunk – or maybe not, what with the possibility of a baby on the way. 

Sam could talk circles around him. The touchy-feely stuff, Dean could do without all that. He listened, though. At least he could let his brother say his piece. They weren't seeing eye to eye on the years of silence, but when did they? Easiest to just agree that John's wrath had been the biggest deterrent at the time and leave it at that. There were more important things to worry about now, like Sam's life and health. "Don't even talk like that! I'm not letting you d-... Not letting anything bad happen to you," Dean declared emphatically. "If there really is a kid in there and not some witch's or angel's idea of a sick joke," he glanced down and laid his hand over the lower reaches of Sam's flat belly, "then it's yours and it's mine and that's it." 

* * *

"Fuck!" Sam blurted out when Dean laid his hand on Sam's abdomen. "Shit, man, I really am a girl! I'm sorry for putting this on you, but this... your promise... I _know_ you'd never leave me alone, but you saying it... makes me feel better." He put his hand on Dean's. "Whatever's going on, I can deal with it as long as I've got you at my side."

Sam drew a deep breath. "And I'll try to stop being so pathetic now. We've a case to solve." He hesitated. "Dean, earlier, when you thought you'd lost your Colt and notebook, you thought something had touched you. Do you think that was... whatever we're trying to hunt down?"

* * *

"I'm here, Sam. At your side, at your back, or you can have my back." Just like most of their lives. Dean didn't begrudge his brother the extra reassurance, not now when he was naked and expressing both of their apprehension at Sam's... situation. If it was true, it was going to be beyond weird to see him morph from his current chiseled badass physique into round and waddling. He managed to relax. They'd bonded, in a way that went beyond being brothers, an extra connection that, for Dean, hadn't happened during the night of Sam's transformation. It just felt right, staying in close proximity right now. 

At last Sam got his fill of discussing 'Them' and moved on to the case. The quick flip in mindset came easy, since they'd been taught from childhood to switch gears from moment to moment. Dean left his hand where it was, covering soft skin, ridged muscle and trail of coarser hairs leading to Sam's groin. Trying to think back to the moment Sam was asking about, Dean wrinkled his forehead. "It doesn't match the M.O. of the guys we interviewed. They all got 'visited' during sleep, and it's damned graphic. Yeah, it felt like something touched me, but lightly, like feathers or cobwebs. And then I couldn't think straight, couldn't remember things. That didn't happen to the others. Right now, it doesn't even seem real anymore." He shrugged. "I was fine after a few minutes. Unless it happens again, maybe we should back-burner it."

* * *

"OK, we'll keep it in mind if something weird – make that something weird _er_ – happens. As for now..." Sam coughed and his eyes widened. He'd meant the fake cough as a symbolic suggestion that they should get cleaned up before the puddle on his belly dried, but it was immediately followed by the sensation of sticky fluid leaking from his ass. He guessed he should have expected that, and it was Dean's semen, but it was still not very pleasant.

"Um, Dean, I think we should wash. I'm... you know?"

* * *

"'You know?' You mean covered in your stuff and full of mine?" Dean outright giggled. It reminded him of earlier days, when Sam hadn't even been sure what to call his semen. At first it was 'white stuff' and then just 'stuff'. If the cum-graffiti starting to dry on his brother's torso was any indication, Sam produced more than ever, these days. "Gotcha. You wanna go first, then?" Leering, Dean traced his index finger through the goo. "'S kinda too bad how it gets all itchy. You're sexy like that. Can I offer to wash it off you?" 

* * *

"I... um, not sure," Sam cringed. The prospect of Dean washing him moved his heart as he could hardly think of anything more personal, intimate, and – loving. Still... "Doesn't it gross you out that your stuff," he air-quoted, "is running from my ass?" He blushed.

* * *

"Nah, man." Sam was so cute, all squirmy about leaking cum. Having never done it without a condom before, it was new to Dean, too. It was his load, though, after all. And he wasn't shy about body parts. "Not grossed out at all," chuckled Dean. "Didn't I just say I'd lick your hole? But if you need your privacy, I respect that. Go on, then." He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. 

* * *

"I dunno what I want," Sam admitted. "I want your hands on me, but... this is... I feel as if I'm dreaming, you know. Still can't believe this is actually happening, like, you and me. I'm afraid that as soon as I get up I'll wake up and it'll all have been wishful thinking, and I don't want that to happen."

He smiled. "I want you to come with me and join me in the shower so I can wash you, too. But only if you're really good with it." Sam blushed more. "Um, about licking my hole... I... think I'd like that, but could we not talk about it for a moment? It's a bit, um, sore, and my balls are, like, aching from overuse... how are you doing in that department, by the way?"

* * *

Dean took stock. Yeah, his dick was chafed in a couple spots between the jerking off and then the actual sex – Sam was so damned tight. His nuts had had just as much of a work-out. They'd pumped out several loads, the last time while being punished with the harsh slap-slap against Sam's ass. If they'd been nineteen, he could've gone again, but so much orgasming, despite the incredible rush, left him drained. His hip joints and back complained a bit. As much as Dean had loved it, all the effort it took to get Sam under him and then work to satisfy his brother's needs had taxed him. 

"In that department: Sore, over-worked, empty enough to shoot dust, but that doesn't make me want to not fool around. I'll... I'd never hurt you though, not like that." They had plenty of history of their fights getting physical and Dean would bet they had a few more of those in them yet. Both of them were too passionate and headstrong to just roll over for the other. "Let's just lay here a while. Till you get your mind wrapped around this being real. Or till you're too icky for words," Dean snorted. He circled the tip of his finger around one of Sam's nipples, smiling to see it perk up at the slightest touch. 

* * *

Sam's nipple stiffened and he moaned softly at the gentle touch from Dean's finger. He'd always enjoyed having his nipples played with, but this recent sensitivity was... awesome, as Dean would put it, but also somehow scary. Still, for now he focused on the pleasant sensation.

"If I become too icky for words, I'll remind you of your offer to wash me," Sam smiled. "Until then, I love what you're doing."

* * *

"Good..." Dean flashed a smile. He did the same to the other little nub. Besides his own, Sam had the nicest nipples, not that he'd really spent any significant time checking out guys' chests. When the pinkish-brown tip hardened, he gave it a little tug. "What feels better – soft or rough?" 

Wiggling to get his other hand available to use, Dean rolled both of Sam's nipples between his thumbs and forefingers a couple of times, watching his face closely for clues what he liked best. Pretty much any touch there seemed to make Sam moan or his eyes roll back. 

* * *

"Mmmmhh..." Sam sighed. He was no longer aroused, which made it possible for him to enjoy Dean's careful ministrations on another level than before. "Soft, I think," he explained. "Since there's no way you're going to make me cum again soon."

He breathed deeply and found himself inhaling his brother's sweat, a scent he'd always found comforting as a youth, and now it came with the promise that Sam was allowed to touch. He placed his palm on Dean's pectoral and pressed gently, marveling at the firm muscle under the soft skin. His index finger rubbed over one of Dean's pebbled nipples and he watched it stiffen up. 

"Do you like this, too?" Sam asked and leaned in to suckle the pink tip.

* * *

Since Sam had a preference, Dean kept a lighter touch. Because there was no rush, no real urgency, he took the time to explore more of Sam's expansive chest. His skin was much more tanned than Dean's pale freckled hide, with some hair on his pectorals, dark hair sprinkled over the middle. It should've been weird, his little brother growing chest hair when Dean had none, but it seemed to simply fit. Like the hair on his head, it felt silky under Dean's fingers. Unlike a lot of men, it wasn't obnoxiously coarse, curly, or patchy, and it ended well above his nipples. Those, Dean ran his finger tips over again and again: he couldn't get enough of the texture. When they puckered, he gave a little tug, and stroked the pointed bits of flesh again. 

Sam mirrored him to some degree. Not used to having anything but cursory attention to his own nipples, Dean's shallow breathing turned into panting. His pink little nubs tingled from pulling taut so fast, then Sam worried them gently with a few sharp but not painful pulls and pinches. "Mmm-hm," he groaned when Sam asked him if he liked it. Liked it? Dean wanted to roll onto his back and let Sam lick and stroke for hours – no wonder his brother couldn't get enough. 

A hot mouth sucking the erect nipple made Dean gasp and jerk his hips forward. He still wasn't hard, but it didn't matter; he just wanted to grind. "Yeah, mmmm... Harder." He couldn't really reach Sam's chest while he was sucking on Dean's, so instead Dean ran his palms over the planes and curves of Sam's thickly muscled arms and upper back. The lanky boy-man Dean had fetched from Stanford was long gone. Not out of jealousy but admiration, Dean wondered how Sam did it. It couldn't all be salad and jogging. 

Sam had obliged, going rougher and using his teeth for a few nips. Throbbing began in earnest between Dean's legs. "Gotta ease up on that, I guess... It's turning me on." It was obvious that Sam wasn't interested in sex right now. "Sometimes I don't have any sense for my limits," Dean grinned. "Let's switch." 

* * *

"You don't have any sense for limits?" Sam looked up from his task of licking Dean's chest. "Are you sure you even have limits?" he teased. "Or did I really wear you out?"

Sam let his hand slide down his brother's firm abdominal muscles to the treasure trail and caressed the soft hairs. Dean let out a soft moan that encouraged Sam to trail his fingers further down. They met with a half-mast erection, and when Dean pushed slowly against Sam's palm but didn't thrust, Sam knew that they were both in a similar state of body and mind: enjoying being touched and petted, but neither of them was up for more, at least for the time being.

It was rare that the Winchesters had time to just relax and basically do nothing, and of course it had been, prior to this day, unthinkable for them to be so close together and find comfort in their bodies. Strictly speaking, they had no time now either as they were on a case, but maybe they were caught in a space-time bubble where monsters didn't exist. Sam couldn't tell what made him so mellow with respect to their work, but all that counted in this moment was that – and how – he and Dean were together.

"I could stay like this for the remainder of our lives," he confessed as he broke off fondling Dean's member in favor of touching his hip and moving upward so he could kiss him. "Of course, we'd eventually recover our stamina and make love again, then recover some more..." Sam laughed. He really liked this concept. Had he ever been so happy before in his life?

* * *

"It's good, yeah, your body against me and how you touch me," Dean offered. He rarely got to this stage with his hooks-ups, and it had been years since that had happened. He doubted Sam wanted a reminder of it, though. "Dunno how you know exactly what to do. I guess... I always thought you'd be kinda frigid. Like whoever you were with would need to teach you. Well, I was wrong..." 

Sam proved him wrong again by sliding up to kiss him lazily. They barely moved beyond the careful, muted rotations of Dean's pelvis. Their tongues lapped and caressed, lips sealing and unsealing. The room spun slowly. Drunk on pheromones and endorphins, Dean cupped Sam's ass cheek and pulled him closer. Everything about the two of them fit perfectly. 

"I never wanna get out of this bed again," he echoed Sam when he spoke again later. Half-asleep, Dean kissed along the side of Sam's long neck, along the tendons, down to his collarbone. His eyelids were less than half-mast, and his dick never had filled beyond that point. He drifted, not caring about the stupid little grin on his slack lips as his face pressed into Sam's shoulder. 

* * *

"'M not frigid," Sam murmured against Dean's neck where his lips had ended somehow, just like Dean's face was suddenly nestled against his shoulder. He felt warm and cosy, and of course, as always when he was close to his older brother, safe.

After a wonderful and timeless eternity of nuzzling Dean's neck and inhaling his scent, Sam eventually needed more: he simply had to open his eyes to drink in the light stubble, the freckles, and the soft skin under Dean's eyes. 

In his drunk-on-love state, it took his brain a few seconds to process what his eyes were showing him. Sam blinked. This couldn't be happening, right? But there it was: his brother's beautiful dirt-blond hair was – snow-white!


	4. Chapter 4

As he fell into an utterly relaxed state, eyes closed and breath even and deep, Dean heard Sam murmur that he wasn't frigid. If he'd been awake, he would've seconded that, maybe have added some praise to how far the opposite extreme Sam was, unguarded.

When sleep came, dreams came. Deceptive at first, Dean flew above an unfamiliar landscape that stank of sulfur and roses. Something drew him, not his free will. He followed landscapes, then rooms in oddly-built houses he'd never seen full of old furniture and shadows and dust. He stopped abruptly in a bed, a huge ancient thing with posts to the distant ceiling and velvet hangings in tatters. His heart stuttered when he noticed something there with him; it looked human but wasn't, not at all.

Pinned spread-eagle flat on his back and held down by psychic forces, Dean trembled as the thing uncoiled foggy tendrils all over his body. He didn't want this! It kept looking at him, and he couldn't look away. Not sure it even had eyes or recognizable features, Dean screamed silently as feathery touches disturbed the hairs on his legs, moving up. Other, similar sensations brushed over his arms and chest. Horrified, he looked down upon himself as his nipples tightened to tiny and pink. His dick twitched to life. No, no, no! The eerie caresses grew more enthusiastic. He'd have liked it if Sam was teasing his hot spots, or a woman he'd picked up, but not this... thing. The ghostly yet corporeal tendrils coalesced around his groin, converging there around his unwilling but stubborn erection, twisting and whirling... Dean was sure he could feel a wet, cold mouth... He shuddered, trying to scream again... 

Then suddenly he jolted out of it. Sam was right there, still next to him, warm and safe. Only... The look on his face, as if Dean was as creepy as the monster stalking his dream... Sam's open-mouthed grimace and raised brows epitomized 'shocked', maybe worse. "What?" Dean demanded. "Did I scream?" He hoped it wasn't a high-pitched, hysterical girly scream, like when he'd been stricken with ghost fever. 

* * *

"D-dean?" Sam shrunk back when his brother suddenly jolted awake with a gurgling noise. Dean hadn't even twitched before; except for his eyes moving behind closed lids, he'd been perfectly still. Now, Sam wondered if he'd been caught in a nightmare the whole time. It wasn't a nice thought that while Sam had held him close and enjoyed their newly-discovered intimacy, Dean may have been suffering in a dream, unable to even scream for help since sometimes people in deep sleep underwent a kind of temporary paralysis.

When the expression of terror in Dean's eyes turned into a questioning one, Sam opened his mouth quickly. "N-no, you didn't," he said. "No screaming. You didn't sound happy, though. What... what happened? Did you dream... like... the other guys?"

He wasn't ready to disclose what had happened to Dean's hair. 

* * *

Okay, so whatever Dean might have said or done in his sleep wasn't what was causing Sam to stare at him like he'd just grown a third head. The next thing out of his brother's mouth sounded like either jealousy or insecurity, passed off as thinly-veiled concern. "Wha-? No, there were no other guys in my dream," Dean stated indignantly. "As if I could help it if there were! More like... a..." he swallowed hard, his skin crawling, "thing. Creature, monster, I'm not sure. It was vile. Evil. It had me tied to a bed and it kept touching me. And god help me, I, uh, responded to it, I couldn't help it, even though it made me sick to my stomach. For sure it wasn't human. There were no hands. Just... Not tentacles or slime, but icky like that. Unnatural." 

He shuddered all over, grabbing on to Sam's firm strength despite his pique. "That sucked. Now you wanna tell me what the fuck is wrong, or do I have to ask twenty questions?" 

* * *

Sam swallowed hard. He'd only seen Dean in this kind of shocky state a few times, with his body shaking and his eyes wide open in terror and confusion. And... the hair...

He swallowed again. "Dean," he began, "I dunno how to tell you..." Dean's grip on Sam's arm tightened painfully and Sam hurried to finish speaking before Dean actually crushed his bones. "Your... hair," he stammered. "It's... turned white..."

* * *

The man they'd interviewed at home, TJ Hooker, flashed before Dean's eyes, and Mr. Cooper from the hospital. Young-ish faces, snow-white hair. No, it couldn't be! Sam had to be yanking his chain. The pained expression, confusion and also resignation splashed across Sam's angular features said otherwise. 

Without another word, Dean jumped out of bed and stalked stark naked to the bathroom. Flipping the light switch, he screeched like an angry banshee at what he saw in the mirror above the sink. Him! Dean Winchester! Circa 2058, if not for a too-smooth face for someone pushing 80. "Go to sleep, get molested by the, the, the..." he didn't know what to call it, "pervy second cousin of the Fog, and now..." He gestured helplessly at his reflection, reddened face under the whiter-than-the-porcelain-throne-white hair making him into an otherwise handsome OLD candy cane. 

What else was affected? Raising one arm then the other, he saw – more white. Dammit. Then, Dean thought of something else. The jolt of panicked dread nearly made him gag. He looked straight down... and almost screamed again. His soft little wiener hung sadly against a bed of curly white. "Dammit, Sam! You're running to that drugstore for hair dye!" Dean bellowed, right before before he was surrounded by a sea of swirling darkness. 

* * *

At first, Sam thought he'd grant his brother a minute of privacy in the bathroom: Dean hated to be seen when he didn't have his emotions – which he denied having at all – under control. However, the screech that emanated from behind the closed door made his hair stand, and he almost knocked Dean into the wall when he busted into the small room. For a moment, he was glad that Dean hadn't locked the door, then the worry took over.

Not only Dean's head hair was snow white, but also the patches in his armpits and... Sam couldn't avoid stealing a glance down below where Dean's eyes were locked in sheer horror on his... pubes. Looking up again, Sam found that Dean's face was as white as his hair... No, actually, it had taken on a greenish tinge, and if the wobbling of his body was any indication...

Sam caught Dean's arms and steadied him against his chest, then sat him down on the toilet. "Hey, eyes front, and breathe," he barked, convinced that TLC would most likely earn him a black eye. Dean made a sound, but before Sam could interpret it, he was distracted by his cell phone ringing in the bedroom.

"Dean, man, you gonna be okay?" Sam asked. "Want me to get that or should I stay with you a bit longer?"

* * *

For a few seconds, Dean thought he was going to pass out. As he swayed on his feet, Sam rushed in. The door banged into the thin wall; Dean caught the reflection of his little brother in the over-the-sink mirror, like some avenging hero, looming up behind him. Before he could fall over and crack his melon open or something equally mortifying, Sam maneuvered him to sit on the toilet. The cold porcelain against his butt revived Dean some, unpleasant as it was. He opened his mouth to mourn his predicament again, but before he got a word out Sam's phone rang in the other room.

"Perfect timing," Dean grumbled. "Go get it," he told Sam, when he cast worried glances at him, clearly anxious to answer the call. His brother turned to go, giving Dean a flash of his perfect ass and the strong cords of his spine with the flaring trapezius above. And, Dean noticed, Sam hadn't been kidding about spunk running down the insides of his legs in two thin, silvery drips. 'I did that', Dean smirked to himself but his moment of triumph didn't last long. Looking down at his own splayed legs and his arms, where his elbows rested on his knees, he noticed that all the little hairs on his limbs were white, too. Well, why not? If the carpet matched the drapes, why wouldn't the tie-backs and scatter rugs match? Jeez, it was like someone had dipped him in powdered sugar. How would Sam ever want him again, looking like this? 

Trying to put it out of his mind, Dean focused on whatever Sam was saying into the phone in the next room. He couldn't hear much, despite the open door. Sam was trying hard to keep it down, that was for sure. Immediately, Dean was suspicious. 

* * *

"... and then the Doc said that she's pregnant! I can't believe it, we've been trying to for ages, and now..."

The man on the other end of the line was speaking so quickly that it made Sam dizzy. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Dean's hair had turned white, and the stranger babbling about... pregnancy... well, that was actually the last topic Sam wanted to be reminded of.

"Hang on for a sec," Sam said. He held his hand up in a futile gesture since it couldn't be seen by the caller, but it still felt as if it could stop the man's stream of words. "Could you please repeat that, and slowly?"

While the man on the other side took a deep breath, Sam heard the voice of an excited female in the background. "Have you told them, TJ? It's a miracle! Give me..." There was some noise indicating a brief struggle, and then Nita, whom Sam had meanwhile identified, was speaking to him.

"Sam? Dean? Well, you know, we've been thinking since your visit... You encouraged us to be open about what happened, and then we decided to see a doctor to make sure TJ was okay, and he said I'd better get checked out, too, and then my doctor asked me tons of questions and made me pee in a cup," she giggled, "and it turns out that I'm with child. So we want to thank you for making us talk." 

Nita was quiet for a moment and Sam heard a muffled conversation, then she giggled again. "And we're considering naming him or her Sam Dean or Deanna Samantha. If you're around in, say, eight to nine months time, you're invited to our baptism party."

There was a shriek and when Nita spoke again, her voice sounded a little breathless. "And sorry, I've gotta hang up now. Apparently, TJ finds his pregnant wife very sexy..." She giggled again and the line went dead.

Sam stared at the cell in his hand, then he dropped it onto the bed and returned to the bathroom where Dean was still sitting on the toilet with a bedraggled expression on his face, but he looked up at Sam expectantly when he entered. Before Dean could open his mouth to ask, Sam spoke.

"Dean, you won't believe this. Guess who just called..."

* * *

Dean bit back a reply that he was in no mood for guessing games. The bits of conversation he had made out offered no clues. Sam reappeared, half-bemused and half-frazzled expression ghosting his features, a huge, puzzled, very naked puppy-boy. 

"No idea. Hostinson? The real CDC? We could use them about now." Dean paused to see if he was right. Apparently not, but he got no answer either way. To redirect his old-ass self from the meat swinging distractingly near his face and accompanying apres-sex fug, Dean pressed, "Well? Was it about the case? Don't keep me in suspense all day..." 

* * *

Sam couldn't decide whether Dean looked more scared or more pissed off. If he knew his brother, however, Dean was focusing on cussing Sam out so he wouldn't have to deal with his own issues a.k.a. the sudden whiteness of his hair. 

Still, Sam didn't know if the information he'd just received was pertinent to their case or not. With Dean's eyes on him, there was only one way to go, though: if he stalled any further, he wouldn't enjoy the near future with his enraged brother.

"That was TJ and Nita," Sam explained. "They just found out that she's pregnant."

* * *

"And...? Why would they call you about it?" Dean wanted to know. "Besides, we just saw them earlier today and they were all, bitching about how he couldn't get the job done." This sudden irrelevant information somehow pissed him off. "Guess they were wrong. People! I'll never understand why anyone _wants_ to get knocked up." 

During his mini-rant, Sam had gone from confused to stricken, and Dean suddenly remembered his brother's possible state at this very moment. "Sorry, buddy. I know you didn't." Didn't want it, didn't try to get pregnant, if and only if Sam in fact _was_. "So, uh, I suppose we should poll the rest of the vics for either infertility problems or recent, uh, fertility?" Dean's voice squeaked over the last word and he rolled his eyes. "Maybe someone's little swimmers finding a new home is connected to... this." He gestured vaguely at himself, sure that Sam got the drift. 

* * *

"Well, we asked them to let us know if anything weird happened," Sam shrugged, but he wasn't as relaxed as he attempted to look. "I guess that counts as weird in their book. Certainly does in mine," he couldn't help adding when he thought of his own – undetermined!!! – state.

"So yes," he admitted, "it could be a clue. Or not. In any event, we have to check it out." If he'd hoped that working the case would provide a distraction from his predicament, fate had just squashed that hope, but it still needed to be done.

"But first of all, we should clean up. Then, I'll get you hair dye and, um, maybe a razor for, um, well..." Sam blushed.

* * *

"What, the Seventies bush? Yeah, like, I look like I'm in my seventies." There was a moment when Dean felt his gorge rise, but he swallowed it back. "Let's get dressed," he suggested thickly, then thought better of it. "I'd better wash up first. Got quite a range on you, boy." 

Inappropriate and badly-timed or not, Dean couldn't help the sideways compliment, accompanied by a tip up of his chin to display the underside, coated with a tacky film of semen. There was plenty more of the same all over his chest and lower. Something like pride of his brother's ultra-masculine traits along with the combination of lust and love he'd come to associate with Sam in the last few days – or months, or longer – surged up inside Dean. He'd have been happy to drag Sam into the shower with him that minute if not for the... 

Right. Work the case. And in the meantime, deal with the whiteness that was literally sprouting on him head to toe, because Dean sure as hell couldn't go out like this. 

Standing, he turned around to turn on the shower taps. Just a quick rinse. "Dunno about you, but I thought the Hookers were kinda weird, in general. TJ's a walking bullshit detector, I'll give him that. But didn't they seem kinda... oversexed for people their age?" 

* * *

"Well, what you call 'Seventies bush' is what I call natural hair," Sam replied. "Unless you were referring to a seventy years old bush. But you already knew what that'd look like from our encounter with the Irish poker guy. Try to look on the bright side. This time it's only your hair, Dean." He hesitated. "Um, I usually wouldn't offer it to anyone, but if you want to borrow my razor, I'll make an exception."

* * *

Last time he'd considered using Sam's razor, Sam hadn't been offering, and he'd bitchfaced himself across three county lines before he got over Dean's little problem. Dean spared a grin for that memory. The witch and his bets, not so much. "Ugh, don't remind me! Fucking witches! At least that Irish dude wasn't spewing bodily fluids. Anyway, his gig was a spell. Old-me spent most of my time wheezing around trying to break it, didn't have time to consider the..." Dean waved a hand at his crotch. "It's gonna take both our razors to get rid of."

As much as he could have pouted about his situation for days, Dean knew better. Behaving like a preschooler might have satisfied a deep-seated thirst for attention, but it would solve exactly zilch. "Okay, well, enough whining. Please, get the dye. I'm not going outside looking like this." He'd just have to do like John always said and pull himself up by his bootstraps. Or more likely, pull his head out of his ass. 

Standing, Dean stepped into the shower and quickly rinsed off the crusty leftover remnants of his and Sam's encounter in the lukewarm water. He didn't think he could repeat any type of sexual act until he was back to normal. Which, he supposed, provided strong motivation. 

Dean turned off the water and, checking for Sam and not seeing him, grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall. No point in dressing, with a dye job in his near future. That was sure to be a mess. Where had Sam disappeared to now? Frankly, the thought of Sam out in public alone reeking of sex made him nervous. It would be like bees to honey. Make that bears to honey. 

* * *

"I didn't hear you complaining about a certain someone spewing bodily fluids a minute ago," Sam couldn't help remarking. He grinned widely for a second, but the past reality of Dean close to heart failure from old age caught up with him immediately. "But you're right, let's not think about that dude."

He left Dean to the shower, wondering for a moment if he should have reminded his brother of the earlier offer to wash him, then decided against it. Sam didn't think Dean would be at ease until he'd dyed the hair on his head and shaved the rest off. 

However, if Dean thought that Sam would go out and buy dye in his present state, he was mistaken: even Sam's brotherly love didn't run deep enough to make him venture out among people with Dean's juices leaking from his ass and his own crusted all over his body. No, Dean would have to wait until Sam had washed and dressed...

Dressed. Sam cringed when he remembered that the only clean clothes he had were in the Impala. So he had to leave the room, after all, and in bright sunlight no less. Hoping that nobody would spot him, he wrapped himself up in the top sheet and darted out to the car. Snagging their duffel bags in record time, he hurried back to the motel room. A quick glance outside confirmed that he hadn't been spotted.

Dean had meanwhile finished his shower, and he was staring at Sam as if he'd suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "What?" Sam asked. "We need fresh clothes, and," the penny dropped, "the, uh, sheet was all I could think off to hide underneath." He smirked. "Unlike you, most people here would probably not enjoy being exposed to my bare ass."

* * *

A second later, the door flew open and Sam, wearing only a sheet draped around him like a toga, rushed in, duffel bag in hand. The trailing end disturbed the salt line, which Dean went to fix immediately. "Why'd you put all your clothes in the car?" he wondered aloud, half a smile over the improvised get-up lifting the corner of his mouth. "You knew we'd be here a few days. Not that I mind being _exposed_ to you being exposed," he leered. "You have an ass to die for. And not just the ass. Anyone with eyes and a working brain would agree."

Dean, treated to the sight of Sam's bare legs and half-exposed upper body, forgot his 'condition' for a moment. He ran his eyes over the golden-tanned skin, miles and miles of it. "I remember that time I was exposed...remember that night with the doublemint twins? You'd think my ass and whatever else you saw made your eyes bleed. That was one of your longest silent treatments ever." 

Uh-oh. A flash of annoyance and what he recognized as long-buried pain bounced in Dean's direction. "What? That was a beautiful, natural act, Sammy." It was the same flippant retort he'd made years ago. Now he understood a lot better why it had bothered Sam so much. Keeping his eyes fixed on the intimately-familiar face, Dean elaborated, "Just like we did, today. In that bed. That was beautiful and natural... Even more. I've never had it like that before – we love each other, and we needed it. Together. Right?" Flustered at his own little speech, the tips of Dean's ears might have turned a little pink but he didn't look away. 

* * *

"Well, um," Sam hemmed and hawed, embarrassed at being reminded of his state when they'd arrived and he'd _not_ grabbed all their bags, "I needed to pee so badly that I forgot last night."

He perked up. "But I'm glad you enjoyed the show. And let me tell you, the reason I didn't enjoy seeing your ass back then was that I wasn't invited to play. I so wanted to kick these twins out and have you for myself..." 

Swallowing hard at the memory that Dean had had less than a year to live at that time, Sam forced the thought away. His smile was a little forced when he continued, but it was a real smile. For Dean. His brother. _His lover._

"I'm looking forward to many more beautiful natural acts with you, bro," Sam grinned. "And about needing it..." He looked to his groin where his swelling dick was beginning to fold up a sizeable tent in the sheet.

Then it hit him what else Dean had said, and Sam's eyes widened. He stepped closer to Dean barely dared to breathe, afraid of ruining the moment and scaring his brother back into his shell. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "We love each other. Always."

* * *

It was amazing, the change in Sam, now that they'd been together and Dean declared how it was between them. True, he asked for Sam's agreement, he respected his brother enough he would never try to put feelings and desires on him that Sam didn't want, but some wall in Dean had come down when they'd... made love. He hated the expression and all the attached baggage between men and women. With him and Sam, unless they found some phrase that fit better, it was the closest thing to what they'd done. 

And now Sam stood there, playfully calling attention to the tentpole he'd grown under the sheet. The boy had impressive enough junk; there'd always be something of a bulge no matter what he was wearing but this... "Damn, Sam!" Dean grinned, letting salacious admiration into his voice. "I think that's the family-sized tent." 

Hearing the husky reply to his earlier sentiment, Dean approached, his towel beginning to raise in front as the tingling in his groin grew to a rush. But Sam had said he was sore; Dean wouldn't hurt him. "That," he pointed, shuffling toward Sam, "deserves some attention, I kind of neglected it earlier." With no hesitation, Dean got within a foot of Sam and went to his knees. Right there, right in front of his face, was the covered proof that Sam wanted him. "Is that for me?" he questioned, looking up and licking his lips. Leaning in, Dean pressed the side of his face to the top of Sam's thigh, feeling the muscle jump. The sheet twitched. Musk filled Dean's nostrils from underneath, or through the thin cotton. He mouthed along the side of the shaft, till he reached the tip where a wet spot was currently expanding. "Wanna put my mouth on you, Sam." 

* * *

"Yes, that's all for you," Sam replied, then added dryly, "and if I may say so, you're not exactly packing an, um, bivouac bag either." It wasn't the first time he was witnessing his brother hard, behind his fly, under the sheets, or sometimes even in the shower when the bathroom door lock failed, which was often the case in cheap motels. In these situations, Sam had always felt guilty for enjoying the secret glimpses. Now that he knew that Dean was getting hard for _him,_ Sam found that he couldn't get enough of it.

"I wouldn't say it's been neglected," he said, surprised how hoarse his voice sounded and how dry his mouth suddenly felt. _Extreme horniness,_ his mind analyzed immediately – and then the analysis provided only gibberish when Dean went to his knees. Sam's upper brain shut up completely a second later when Dean's lips touched the tip of his shaft.

"Oooh yeah...!" Sam exclaimed. "Please, Dean, yes, please put your mouth on me!"

* * *

The power that permission granted Dean jolted through his limbs to the pit of his belly, and lower. He'd master this and give Sam the pleasure he deserved. Panting in anticipation, swallowing back the saliva flooding his mouth, Dean pawed the layers of sheet up and aside. Once Sam was bared to him, Dean took a minute to look him over. All that, just for him, so hard and needy. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the network of little fluttering veins, then dipped into the slit for sweet droplets. Above him, Sam stuttered and moaned, already trembling. 

Inexperienced at giving head to a man, Dean did what he knew felt good to him: he went for it. Closing his lips around the fat head, he sucked down hard. Every few seconds, he'd lessen or increase suction while licking whatever his tongue could reach, first the raised corona, then the fissure behind. Slowly, he took down more, a little more every time he was forced to pull off for a breath. That pulsing dick wedged his jaws apart, and the slick head kept hitting the back of his throat. Dean's balls were starting to hang heavy again; he reached up for Sam's, cupping them protectively and gently rolling the dense glands. 

The next time he had to stop and gasp for air, he gritted out, "Love blowing you, Sammy." The lower part of his face was all covered in spit and tears ran from the corners of his eyes from the effort, but Dean didn't care. He took the hot shaft into his mouth again, holding around the base of it with his spare hand to keep the skin tight. His lips had swollen from the pressure of his teeth wrapped inside, and the force he applied with each new pull. 

* * *

"Nuuuh!" Sam's head fell back when Dean sucked him down good. He hadn't received many blowjobs in his life and never given one himself, but whatever Dean was doing felt better than anything Sam had ever had done to his dick. It cost him an almost inhuman effort to stop himself from thrusting deeper into Dean's mouth than his brother could take him in. Still, despite the incredible urge, there was a small voice in his brain suggesting that the size of his erection outmatched that of Dean's oral cavity by far.

If Dean hadn't pulled back every now and then, Sam was sure he'd have exploded several times already. When Dean, eyes alight with emotion and tears streaming down his face, told him that he loved blowing him, heat stung Sam's eyes, too, and his whole body was throbbing with warmth that was due to more than just arousal.

"Love... being blown by you, Dean," Sam managed to gasp before he was once again overwhelmed by the pleasure, the sharp lances of fire that spread from his groin when Dean resumed the licking, sucking, pulling on his dick that was quickly getting closer to spewing everything Sam's already drained balls might yet yield. 

It felt as if his dick was growing out of every proportion, as if it wanted to present the largest possible surface to Dean's alternately teasing and demanding tongue. Every drop of Sam's blood seemed to be fleeing down to battle for space in his – still! – swelling cavernosa, till the room was spinning from the lack of blood in his brain.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, desperate to get his message across before his imminent orgasm washed over him, "gotta lay down, now. C-can't hold back... dizzy..."

* * *

Pulling off again with a huge slurp, Dean glanced around the side of Sam's hip. He couldn't resist licking at the smooth, tawny, salty skin just under the arch of the bone. Sam really was a shaky, sweaty mess. Strands of his long hair stuck to his face, his lips puffed up and open as he groaned, responsive to every swipe of tongue. 

Blowing Sam with him on his back would give Dean so much more leverage and control. "Bed's about six feet behind you... Back up." He crawled along on his knees, not giving a flying fuck about the bad case of rugburn he was inflicting on himself. Somehow, Sam staggered backward enough steps to reach the edge of the bed, which he promptly fell onto as the backs of his knees hit. 

Dean climbed up and pushed Sam into the middle. The mattress gave under their combined weight but it didn't matter – he just needed to keep pleasuring his brother. "You liked it, huh? Gonna like this even more." Already Sam sprawled from corner to corner of the queen-sized bed with his long limbs spread out every-which-way. All Dean knew was he needed between those legs. In some surreal sense, he _belonged_ there, whether his mission was to suck that gorgeous hard dick or to fuck Sam through the mattress or provide other, more exotic treats. 

Feeling disjointed, clumsy with the spiral of blood to his groin, Dean spread Sam's thighs around him as he went down again. His own toes curled into the sheets at the taste and heft of Sam's erection on his tongue again. Now there was precome leaking all over his tastebuds. In the back of his throat and further, Dean swallowed around the glans. He kept his lips tight, using his hand to make up for what length he couldn't take yet, moving it in the opposite direction of the bobbing of his head.

When his chin nudged Sam's balls, his brother let out a wail, jerking his hips up into Dean's face. Needing to breathe anyway, Dean let the raging hard-on slip from his mouth to smack against Sam's flat abdomen, while he ducked lower to gulp in pheromone-laced air. No way he'd pass up the opportunity to lick Sam's tense sac and the firm, heavy balls inside. He just couldn't get enough, lapped at the outer skin with its odd little wrinkles and sparse hairs, while Sam fought to thrust and Dean held him down. Inspired, he took one into his mouth, just as he had with Sam's dick. 

* * *

"Oh fuck, yes, whoops..." Sam almost lost his balance when Dean pulled off: his knees felt weak and his whole body was trembling. Dean's order to back up came not a second too early. Wondering for a moment why Dean would tell him how far it was to the bed, Sam recognized that he was so lost in his surroundings that his first tentative step would have led him away from the bed.

Stumbling, staggering backwards, he felt the mattress hit his knees just before they gave out and he collapsed on the bed. It took Dean less than a second to land on top of him, and immediately, Sam arched up against his brother's body, whining with loss when Dean pushed him away and into the middle of the bed.

_"You liked it, huh?"_

Understatement of the millennium, Sam thought, but only a deep groan made it out of his mouth.

_"Gonna like this even more."_ Dean didn't wait for Sam's reply – not that he'd have gotten any since Sam was far beyond coherent speech. Sam's whole being was reduced to the aching shaft that lay hot and heavy on his abdomen, leaking like a sieve, and he cried out when its head was suddenly engulfed by the molten lava of Dean's mouth and massaged by the swallowing throat muscles.

"Nuuhh... Nnhhh, Dean, I... Hhhh... Oh yes, there, there, there, mmmmppp..."

Just when he thought his heart would give out from the intensity of the pleasure, _so_ close to cumming, Dean held him down firmly and stopped him from thrusting.

"No," Sam cried out. Couldn't Dean see that he _must_ thrust because he'd surely die if he didn't reach his climax _now?_

Dean resumed his love-making, not on Sam's screaming dick but on his balls. The gentle lapping tongue caressed the aching glands soothingly, which made Sam's eyes water. Then, Dean took one of the hardened stones into his mouth and suckled gently. All Sam could do in response to the sweet treatment was gasp while his hands tore at the sheet so as not to rip Dean's hair out. 

"Nnnh... Dean! Gonna... gonna..."

It was too much. Even without a touch on his dick, Sam's balls drew up and tightened as the first thick string of cream gushed from his slit.

* * *

Before he could even switch sides, the nut in Dean's mouth jerked upward on its cords. Surprised, he let it go so as not to scrape the delicate skin or its contents with his front teeth. His eyes flew upward to the sight of Sam arched and flushed in the throes of his release, coming all over himself in hot, white splashes. Quick as a snake, Dean lunged and fitted his open mouth over the ruddy head of Sam's cock, but he still got a couple of spurts in the face. Slightly fishy, the taste filled his oral cavity; Dean fought down his gag reflex and worked Sam through his climax. 

God, he got off on watching Sam come. He kept sucking, not latching on quite as tightly as before. Still, Sam kept spurting for him, his entire body jerking with each jet and vibrating from the groans resonating from deep in his chest. After the first few, the shots grew weaker, but not done, eyes rolled back in his head, Sam thrust up against the restraint of Dean's hands and body. _Those thighs,_ Dean reflected like a lovesick teen, were gonna kill him. Open wide, striated muscles chasing through ripples of aftershocks, Dean gripped there, kneading one-handed. He swallowed down everything Sam gave him, then licked and milked more fluid from the tiny slit. 

His too was leaking, although for now, clear and in individual drops. Unable to control himself any longer, Dean humped slowly against the mattress for some much needed-friction. He was hard enough to pound nails – again. Torn between just letting it go in the sheets rather than make Sam deal with him all blissed out or trying to get yet another orgasm out of his brother, he rose up on his knees and took himself in hand, displaying his sweat-sheened body and raging erection. "See how much... you turn me on?" Dean panted, though he didn't expect an answer to that. "C'n spray you with my jizz again, or I can flip you over and do you and see 'bout..." Was he really gonna say this? Yep. Already he was stroking himself. "...squeezing every last drop out of your prostate." 

It wasn't really a question, yet it was. "Need to get off, Sammy... So bad."

* * *

Even in his teenage years, Sam couldn't remember coming so often and so hard. Hadn't he already thought he'd nothing more to give after his shower session? And then again after Dean had _claimed_ him? His balls kept twitching as he gasped for breath, and for a second Sam had the mental image that they'd never stop doing so. Could a man's sexual organs actually be damaged from overuse? His sure felt like it. There was a persistent dull ache in his wrung-out balls, his asshole was sore, and his dick felt somewhat bruised – it didn't look injured when he looked down in a momentary panic, but it was shriveled up and seemed to want to hide inside his body.

Still, when Sam looked up again and saw Dean on his knees between Sam's legs, the impossible happened: he felt desire – in his heart and mind, not with his body, but the rapture on his brother's face, the passion-dark eyes and the flushed cheeks were an image he'd forever treasure in his memories. And then there was, of course, the heavy erection in Dean's hand, with its wet purple tip, quivering with need.

When Dean began to stroke himself, Sam keened. Oh yes, he could see how much he turned Dean on! Not even a blind man could have _not_ seen that! His nostrils flared when the unique scent of his brother's fresh sweat hit them, enhanced multifold by the heady mix of Sam's semen and Dean's precome.

"Lemme help you get off," Sam gasped. Sitting up, he wrapped both hands around Dean's and joined the stroking while he quickly made up his mind. He wasn't experienced in gay sex, but he'd dreamed of making love with Dean for years. As much as he wanted – what had his brother said? _"...squeezing every last drop out of your prostate."_ – a last sane brain cell told him that he was too sore for that. The thought made him smile briefly, with pride of Dean's size and passion. His smile widened at the prospect of being sprayed with Dean's jizz, and he made his choice. It may come to the being sprayed part, but he had another finish in mind. 

"I want to lick you and suck you dry." Oh goodness, it sounded like a cheap porno line. Sam cringed, then spoke again, soft and to his surprise pleading. "Please, can I do that for you?"

* * *

_"I wanna lick you and suck you dry..._

Heat and love and lust flooded Dean's belly, loosened his hip joints to where he was fucking his own fist. Sam leaned forward, lips parted, peering up at him through his hair. "Oh god... do it," Dean bit out. 

As a boy, Dean had first discovered the forbidden thrill of voyeuristic sex in the form of old Playboy and Hustler mags he found in the back of a closet in one of their many run-down apartments. Being left alone in motel rooms for days or weeks on end gave him plenty of time to sample different kinds of genres of porno on cable TV. Later, with the Internet, he found a new, endless source. Dean loved porn, he'd grown up on it. Hearing his usually-reserved brother spew a dirty one-liner nearly made his balls turn themselves inside out right then. The glands tightened to the point of pain while he struggled to hold on just a little longer.

That Sam wanted to do that for him filled Dean with something like wonder. His hand flew faster up and down the length of his steel-hard dick. Warmth and gentle suction surrounded him as far as the ultra-sensitive coronal ridge. Dean groaned as Sam's tongue swept across the frenulum underneath in one direction, then the other, each pass seeming to amplify through his entire body. Sam's powerful shoulders tensed and flexed as he worked, not freckled like Dean's but with a few dark dots here and there, cut and perfect. 

Dean tried to go easy – Sam's inexperience rivaled his – but he was too far gone. "Mmmph! Sorry!" At least half of his dick was in Sam's mouth now. At some point, Dean had threaded the fingers of his free hand into the strands of that soft mahogany-streaked hair and he knew he was pulling too hard. He tried to ease up; the second he loosened his hand, his pelvis took over and bucked forward again. 

In spite of the jerky, abortive motions, Sam was _sucking_ him. It felt so damned good, drool running down his sac, lips wrapped tight around his shaft. Dean began to unravel fast, like his balls were slipping out of the grip of his control. "Hnng... Hnng... Mmmmmmmohmygaaawwd!" Each time Sam pulled back, he also drew a fresh spurt of precum, only it wouldn't be just pre- for long. His abs were starting to tremble, and Dean felt his orgasm begin to gather force. "Close, Sam... So close now, gonna... gonnnaaaaa...!"

* * *

Dean went for it immediately, like a man dying from thirst took to water. Sam barely found time to breathe in before his brother's thick shaft was already filling his mouth. The sheer size made Sam's eyes bulge: whereas it felt as if the fat crown was half-way down his trachea, his eyes told Sam that he barely managed to take the tip. Almost gone with need, Dean tried to go slow, but his body fought him and started thrusting. It meant that Sam found a fraction of a second to draw in some air, and then Dean shoved in again.

With Dean's hand in his hair, pushing him down hard, Sam didn't have another option but to take his brother's dick deep in his throat, but once he became aware of the sounds Dean was making, Sam wouldn't have it otherwise. Whenever Dean pulled out, Sam sucked down hard, then swallowed around the head when it was pushed in again.

It didn't take long for Dean's motions to turn uncoordinated and jerky. At the same time, his moans increased. It was a matter of seconds now, and although Sam suddenly realized that he hadn't really thought this through to the end, he told himself that he'd swallow. Dean's mouth on him had felt incredible earlier and he wanted to give his brother the same pleasure.

Dean's trembling increased and Sam wasn't surprised when he heard the shaky announcement that Dean was close: the steel hard flesh in his mouth and throat was swelling to an impossible size and Sam felt the vein on the underside pulse almost violently against his lower lip. For a second, Sam feared that Dean would pull back, but the instinct, the need to rut won. The floodgates opened...

...and for an indeterminably long time Dean gushed and Sam swallowed. Dean's moans were the only sound that Sam heard – there may have been a banging noise on the wall but he tuned it out: nothing counted but his brother's pleasure. The force of Dean's orgasm made the bed shake, and Sam suddenly found that he had his hands on the jerking hips, pulling Dean in and holding him up at the same time.

He was in heaven. The only thing Sam regretted that with his mouth full he couldn't tell Dean how much he loved him. It didn't stop him from trying to speak, and apparently, the vibrations from his vocal cords when he hummed 'I love you' made Dean's balls draw up again for an unexpected final spurt.

* * *

It had to end, of course it did. When the tight compressions of his brother's throat overwhelmed him a few seconds later, Dean let it go, finally. By now he was shaking so hard that it was a miracle he hadn't keeled over, and his head spun from the amount of blood and fluids diverted downstairs to his groin. The poor schmuck in the next room banged on the thin wall, but that didn't silence the non-stop moans escaping from deep in his chest. In truth, Dean hadn't had this much action in one day since he'd been a teenager, living for those times when their dad was long gone and Sam was asleep so he could pleasure himself again and again. He'd never had so many powerful orgasms in a day – ever. All these years, he'd considered women the lucky ones, since their climaxes and afterglows seemed to last longer; some even had multiples, so they claimed. Right then, as his inner tubing contracted repeatedly and time slowed down so he could feel every single long gush all the way from the depths of his hurting balls to its escape from his slit, Dean wondered through a haze of hormones if it had been this intense for Sam, too. 

At first, Sam had choked around him a little, but he managed to swallow most of Dean's outpouring of seed – so much! That act of love along with a humming vibration, as if Sam tried to speak to Dean's experience, brought on another, impossible wave of fresh cream. "...Can't..." Dean had no idea 'can't' what. Can't cum any more? Can't love his brother any more than he already did? Can't stay upright any longer? The last, most immediately. "Gonna fall over," he groaned, in hope that Sam would let go of his junk before that happened. His body gave out and he crashed sideways to the mattress, limp and twitching. 

For a couple minutes, he just lay there, trying to catch his breath. "That was... Sam... I love you." 

* * *

Unsure whether Dean wanted him to continue sucking or not, Sam loosened his jaw but kept the softening dick in his mouth. Then Dean announced that he'd fall over, and Sam let go, catching his brother when he collapsed on the bed. Seeing Dean limp and exhausted reminded Sam that his own knees weren't so steady either, now that the rush of endorphins ebbed away. He laid next to Dean and watched him slowly regain his breath.

If Dean had looked hot before in his need, Sam found him adorable now, with his still flushed face, but here was a peaceful expression in Dean's eyes that Sam had rarely seen before. "I love you, too," he said when Dean spoke up. "That's what I wanted to tell you earlier, but... well," he shrugged with a grin. "I thought you'd rather have me continue what I did." He inched closer and kissed Dean's lips, then whispered, "And need I tell you that I loved doing it?"

* * *

Light made its way back into his awareness, as well it should since he was glazed and wide-eyed. By the angle and tint of the sun, Dean determined they'd lost a couple hours. Then came sound, Sam murmuring a little hoarsely how much he'd loved blowing him. 

When Dean tried to speak, his words came out slurred, like he was drunk. "Yah liked it? Really? Wellllll, let me tellll you, yer daaamn good attit." He refocused his eyes and returned Sam's kiss. His brother was almost examining him, inspecting him, eyes heavy-lidded and keen. Plenty of people had seen Dean in his naked glory, but never had he felt such sincere appreciation of his body and its capabilities. 

And man, he was turning into a sap – his heart melted into a lump of goo. "Had me all worked up, y'know, after I pleasured," he dropped his voice an octave or so, "you... You came like it was your first and last time. Somethin'. I... I told myself earlier I wouldn't touch you till we solve this mystery, but I totally forgot." 

Now that a few minutes had gone by, Dean felt strangely energized. He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Told you I'd wash the stuff off you. Now you really need it. And I stink," he wrinkled his nose. Sam had worked him into a lather, alright. "Then there's that dye job."

* * *

"Ah, you really wasted that shower," Sam grinned. "And for the record, I like the way you smell. Like Dean. _My_ Dean." He rubbed his nose against his brother's neck and sighed happily. "You know, I think sex with you puts me in a good mood. You'll never have to call me bitch again."

Sam withdrew a little so he could meet Dean's eyes. "Seriously. That was... I dunno. Have you ever seen me speechless? Awesome is the only word I can come up with. Man... I always knew you had to be good in the sack, but what you did with me..."

He hesitated. "Dean... I... I never licked a man before – and hardly a woman... I'm so glad you liked it and I want to do it again soon. Um, and when I go get your hair dye, should I buy more lubricant? I really hope I'm a quick healer there, too, because licking you isn't the only thing I want to repeat soon." He grinned sheepishly. 

* * *

"You like my stink, huh? It's not roses, that's for sure." At the moment, they were both pretty rank, but Sam still hadn't had a chance to wash after the previous round. 

Sam had a point about what they'd need in the future. "Yeah, get lube, biggest size they have," Dean agreed. They had no excuse not to make each other as comfortable as possible. "I'm gonna want more, too. As much as either of us can handle, most likely. My Johnson's kinda raw, can't imagine what your ass feels like." He hesitated; it was still so new between them like this. 

One thing he appreciated was Sam's upfront honesty. Those types of sentiments were ones Dean buried, but it was easier to talk about when Sam went first. "I'm not exactly an expert at giving head, either. Didn't matter, I just wanted to make you feel good. I know what I like done to me, and I remember a few things you liked when we were younger. About your, um, about how to play with your foreskin. Did Dad ever say why I'm cut and you're not? He never brought it up to me." It seemed like something Sam might have wanted to know considering the predominance of the practice, especially in the Midwest. There, he'd have been not only different from Dean, but also most other boys. The whole thing made Dean cringe to think about. He still had plenty of sensation, more than plenty. It couldn't exactly be undone. Impulsively, he stated, "If you're pregnant and this kid's a boy, no one's touching his junk." 

* * *

Sam and Dean had always been tight, but never had Sam felt closer to his brother. His lover. he winced in sympathy when Dean mentioned that his dick was raw – okay, so it was more than sympathy; Sam couldn't have said whether it was his dick or his hole that felt sorer, but it was one more thing he shared with Dean and that made him almost enjoy the pain.

And then Dean mentioned the p-word. It was like being drenched with ice water. No, no, no. It couldn't be. Desperate to pull his thoughts away from what couldn't be happening to him, Sam latched onto Dean's question.

"Um, Dad said..." Sam began. "You can probably guess that I asked him a few times and you can also guess that he refused to answer. Just like he refused to answer anything I ever asked about Mom. Until one night when he got drunk and, well, maudlin, he told me. That was so... not him. It happened when you were gone for over a month. I never told you because, well," he hung his head, "you always admired him for his strength and I didn't want to destroy your image of him. That was when you returned, and later it somehow didn't matter anymore. Besides, if Dad ever had a chick flick moment, that was it."

He took a deep breath. "Anyhow, long story short. When they came to take me away for _it,"_ the thought of having his foreskin cut off made him cringe, "a light bulb flickered and went out. Mom thought, 'what if some equipment they use during the surgery fails like that light?', and she told them she wanted to wait another day. When she found out eventually that somewhere else, an electrical failure of some device had burned a baby's penis so bad that it had to be amputated, she swore that nobody would touch mine."

Sam grinned. "At least not with a scalpel." He sighed. "Dad would have killed us for what we just did, but I wonder... Do you think Mom would have accepted it? I like to think she'd have wanted her sons to be happy."

He bit his lip. When they'd been little, Dean had once forbidden Sam to ever speak about their mother again. It had been hard for Sam because he had so many questions, but seeing how much it hurt his beloved big brother when Mom was mentioned, Sam had swallowed down his questions. 

* * *

"Mom did you a solid that time. Man, that poor kid, I can't even imagine," Dean cringed. His own penis must have cringed, too. It wanted nothing more than to hide inside his body right then, and shrunk to the length of his pinkie in self-preservation. Dean looked down, and was forcibly reminded of his current state – besides sticky and sweaty. But he wanted to finish the conversation, too, possibly a first for him. He and Sam just didn't talk about their parents much, other than if it pertained to hunting. 

"I know what you mean about Dad. Most of his words were barking barked orders. Or lectures. Arguments with other hunters. But sometimes, when he was drunk or feeling especially guilty, he'd get candid. The first time he said anything to me about you possibly having a pet demon was when he was drunk. I didn't believe him, even went so far as to say it was bullshit, that he was just making it up to explain why you didn't jump at his command like a trained monkey. He didn't like that too much. I was seventeen, but he still back-handed me across the room." The memory still stung, like a lot of those featuring John. If Dean had believed it rather than scoffing at what he took as the insane ravings of a man who couldn't stand his own son, maybe they could've found Yellow-Eyes years before. But that was one more thing he didn't get to do over. 

"So what about that, Sam? Did he ever let on to you about what happened on the night Mom died, beyond 'there was a fire'?" 

* * *

"The only time I ever asked him about Mom's death, we had to leave town two days later when the school nurse called CPS on account of my shiner," Sam replied. "I never told you what had led to it, but you'll remember our flight." It hadn't been the only time they'd ran from CPS, so he elaborated. "The one where Dad left us in the Impala for two nights in the middle of nowhere in winter while he finished the job."

Sam hesitated. "Did he ever talk about it with you?"

* * *

At first, Dean was fuzzy over which time running from CPS. But then Sam reminded him of their camp-out in a blizzard with only Baby for shelter. That in itself was bad, but the idea that their dad had punched a barely pubescent Sam in the face... At the time, Dean had been angry, but knew better than to show it. 

"Nope, he never mentioned it, big surprise. What were we, like 12 and 16? It's 30 below windchill and he goes off to hunt a spirit from an Indian burial ground. Or so he said. The only things that saved our asses were those sub-zero sleeping bags and two pounds of venison jerky. Remember that? We had to melt snow with body heat just to get a drink of water, after we ran out of gas. Dad was pissed when he got back." Once again, Dean shook his head at the memory. "I dunno which was worse: that time, or the one when we got eaten alive by wood ticks at Icelandic State Park. We were both screaming our heads off while Dad cussed a blue streak, trying to get us to hold still while he brandished a pair of tweezers. I'd swear he slathered us in most of that big tub of petroleum jelly before it was over. So gross! That was before I knew what Vaseline was actually good for," he chuckled. 

What could they do but laugh over their many misadventures? It was that or cry or be really angry for the rest of their lives, and what was the point of that? They'd managed to get themselves into plenty of jams, too. Like, old Dean, hairy-palmed Dean. Almost reaped Dean, several times now. That didn't even begin to touch them dying and being brought back. "Some lives we lead," Dean quipped. The tick story was from a random hunt, but the other, about the blizzard, had started with Sam questioning John about their mom. "I know when we were kids, I told you don't talk about Mom. Back then, it was too much. I... I took my cues from Dad. I don't remember a lot, but if you ever want to ask... It's okay now."

* * *

"Or that time when Dad assigned orienteering runs and we spent the day bush-whacking through poison ivy." Sam shuddered, but then he laughed. "You were so pissed off because you had the rash all over your face and didn't want to be seen by anyone, which, of course, happened the day you'd finally convinced Sally Reeves to go on a date with you. I thought you'd kill Dad, and when I explained to you that killing him wouldn't end the swelling and itching, the look you gave me then made me think you wanted to kill me, too."

He sighed wistfully. "Other kids would have had their moms giving them ointment, then milk and cookies for comfort. We got Dad telling us to suck it up. And, yeah, petroleum jelly, we must have carried huge vats of the stuff in the trunk." Sam looked at Dean and cocked his head. "Maybe Dad had shares of a jelly company."

* * *

"That's a lotta killing, Sam, even for us. I cancelled that date and possibly getting into her pants, rather than not be pretty. I was wishing you itching in some unmentionable places," Dean giggled. "Not that it helped, either. But then, I thought you were gonna kill me that time in Colorado when Dad made us hike up to the treeline. Remember? We got into a battle around the campfire with the marshmallows I'd smuggled in my backpack. I kept aiming for your head and they got stuck in your hair. So much for our S'mores." Dean showed his teeth, lost in his memories. "You had to hike over the pass and down the other side like that. Your hair was one big clump with a few greasy strings hanging out. We didn't know it at the time, but that was real close to where we hunted the wendigo. We should feel lucky it didn't have a sweet tooth."

Actually, until now, Dean had never seen both sides of that equation together. He mused, "You think Dad knew about wendigos – that wendigo – back then, since there was a page for it in his journal?" The realization made him more than a little sick. "I wonder how many times he used us as live bait... I mean, that we weren't aware of." They'd both been on plenty of hunts with John, and they'd never seemed to go smoothly no matter how routine. Monsters could sense weakness, and most of the time they'd go for a kid versus an adult. Everyone knew that. 

"I seriously doubt Dad owned shares in anything. He was too broke for everything but whiskey and gasoline often enough." Shifting uncomfortably, Dean had to admit he and Sam had been flat broke, too, although they didn't have two kids to support. Well. That again. Every thought seemed like a trigger, bringing him back to Sam's 'condition'. "Dad didn't do motherly. I guess that was my job, and I sucked at it, too. Although you have to admit I kept you fed and reasonably clean. But yeah, kids deserve so much more..." 

* * *

"The S'mores, yeah, I'll never forget. And I guess it won't be a big surprise for you that I plotted a really nasty revenge, but in the end I didn't do anything. Didn't have to, and you know why? I was a good little brother then because I never told you that I actually watched you shaving your junk after you scratched your groin for a few days. You never said anything, but it must have been crabs. Thank goodness Dad was gone for two weeks so I could sleep on the couch and didn't have to share a bed with you. Besides, he would have killed you if he'd have known."

Sam shook his head. "Our childhood lacked a lot of things, but it was never boring. We must have been a burden for Dad, an always present reminder of Mom, but he insisted on keeping us with him. Can't have been easy for him. Not that I'm trying to make excuses, but being a hunter is bad enough without kids. And what you said about us being used as bait... I wouldn't know about the Wendigo, but remember the Shtriga? And even later, the yellow-eyed demon." He shuddered.

"Dean," he said softly, "you were the best parent I can ever imagine. You were a child yourself and in an impossible situation. Yet you were always there for me. You still are. But..." He hesitated. "If... If it turns out that we're really... that I'm _pregnant,"_ Sam spat out defiantly, "there's no way for us to continue this life."

* * *

Dean pulled a face. Experiences like that were ones he didn't care to repeat, either. All that itching! Having to scratch more than usual, and no way to hide it. "Yeah, it was crabs. Condoms don't do anything against them. That's what you get for picking up loose women, but I guess you know I was kind of a slut myself when I was younger. Well, till recently," Dean amended. He'd had to do the big shave more than once. "Pretty shrewd of you to figure it out, Sam. Would have sucked if I'd given you crabs without the benefit of..." Not 'sleeping with' him. As Sam had pointed out, that would have given him an infestation just by proximity. "...of my sex," Dean finished awkwardly. Then he brightened. "I did find out I kinda liked being baby smooth. We just don't have much time on the road for extensive shaving." He wasn't as hairy as a lot of men, but it still took a lot time and care on those delicate areas. 

Sam's train of thought found the same track Dean's had just a bit ago: the pregnancy. His solution, such as it was, rendered Dean speechless. Talked about pulling the rug out from under a dude. When he found his voice again, Dean demanded hoarsely, "What do you mean, not continue this life? We're hunters! What else are we gonna do with ourselves? Get a minivan, a condo, and day jobs? Come on!"

* * *

A little embarrassed over the topic – or maybe it was the novelty – Sam coughed. "As much as I prefer keeping my hair natural, I admit that you're kinda... sexy when you're, as you said, baby smooth. As for not having so much time for extensive shaving, well, I could... help you, if you like..."

Then Dean's question about giving up hunting hit him and he bristled. "So what, then, we just continue going after monsters even with a fucking _baby_ in the back seat? No way, man. I'm never, ever, submitting a kid – any kid – to the kind of childhood we had, Dean. Even if that means..."

_...that you and I have to go separate ways,_ Sam thought, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead, he continued, "But we won't have a child, unless you screw up, and I mean that literally, as in, with a girl. Men don't get pregnant." He stuck out his chin to make his point, even if it was mainly to convince himself.

* * *

"No, yeah. I mean, no kid of mine – ours – is going to grow up the way we did." As a boy, Dean had told himself that so many times. It was the reason he'd never allowed himself to fall in love, or stay in love, or to settle down. It had been trauma, child abuse, all-around fucked up. The older he got, the more clear that picture became. "But... I can't just stop hunting. We both know what's out there. You can go back to law school. Or work a normal job." 

The other part of what Sam said hit him. "Screw up? Literally, how? Is that a joke?" Sometimes Dean hated how Sam's brain always seemed to be a step ahead of his. He wasn't following. Screwing equaled sex but 'up'? "For someone who keeps insisting he can't be pregnant, you sure do seem to be planning the rest of our lives as though you are." 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Dean tried to calm down. It wasn't his brother's fault. "We'll figure something out. Something we can both live with. But first things first... This case, and then figuring what's going on with you."

* * *

Dean's response wasn't what Sam had wished for: apparently, if Sam was pregnant, Dean considered him a woman, after all; the woman who'd stay at home and raise the child – cushioned into _'You can go back to law school. Or work a normal job.'_ which, obviously was not an option for the _man_ Dean, who'd continue hunting.

Bristling, Sam forced himself to keep the reply that was lying on his tongue, that he had no intention of becoming a soccer mom with an ever-absent husband, to himself. He couldn't meet Dean's eyes when he turned away and acknowledged, "Okay, case first." 

Instead of heading for the shower that he really needed, Sam, being adamant to himself to put the case before any of his personal need, opened his laptop computer for more research. Before starting the browser, however, he found than an email had arrived from Dr. Hostinson. He scanned it, paled, then read it again.

"Our cases have just become one," Sam informed his brother in a hollow voice. "Dr. Hostinson just informed us that her hubs' hair has turned white."

He paused. "I'm pregnant, Dean."

* * *

Shocked at the sudden freeze in Sam's demeanor, Dean looked on as Sam crawled out of bed, booted up his laptop and seated himself before it at the round, wobbly table in the far corner of the room. Not putting on clothes and not even bothering a cursory wash was totally out of character for Sam. Opening his mouth to remark, Dean shut it again with a click when his brother, eyes glued to the glowing screen, announced Hostinson's husband was the latest victim. 

"Sam," Dean spoke gently, hoping it would be more effective in getting Sam's attention than barking at him. He stood and crossed the room, too, to stand on the opposite side of the table. "I don't want her to know about us. She's a doctor. You said it yourself – no doctors. No becoming their lab rat. If I show up with white hair, she'll put two and two together. We could lie and say I knocked up some girl, but that would only work for so long. She's intuitive, and she has a working relationship with Doctor Creepy." 

So far, Sam's eyes hadn't shifted from the screen. "You need to clean up. I'll help, if you still want it." Somehow Dean doubted it. "And I still need you to make a run to the store for hair dye." He added, knowing it was weak, "Sorry I pissed you off." 

* * *

Sam sat still, frozen with shock. Of course, Nita and Dr. Hostinson being pregnant while their husbands' hair had turned white _could_ be a coincidence, but his whole life's experience with the paranormal told Sam that it wasn't. Still, as long as there was the slightest chance...

"Dean," he began in a shaky voice, "I guess this case is the only possibly reliable pregnancy test when it comes to men, but let's check out the remaining victims first – and I promise I'll only freak out completely after that, okay?"

He swallowed. "If you pissed me off, I'd say that's because we're both scared as hell right now. And I want your help cleaning up." Sam laughed nervously. "Big bad hunter like me can't bear the thought of five minutes alone in the shower, isn't that absurd? But I promise, I'll make the run to the drugstore for your dye afterward."

* * *

"Uh, yeah, scared as hell. Dunno how you haven't lost your mind yet," Dean revealed. In his twenty-some years, Sam had already been through so much. He'd endured the neglect of their father, and later, the derision. They'd barely scratched the surface, with the earlier memories. This was another level, something happening within Sam's own body, where he'd had no choice in the matter what-so-ever. Something growing, a parasite that would change him irrevocably. In his brother's place, Dean would be a raving lunatic if not catatonic. 

"Nothing we can do about that in the next hour. Might as well have a little fun. C'mon, let's go wash all that dried goo off you." The crust of Sam's spunk flaked a little around the irregular borders of it on his toned chest and abs as he breathed. As established, the post-sex reek threatened to overpower them. Then too, Dean didn't even want to contemplate what Sam might be sitting in. He'd shot more than a normal load – a dull, pulsing ache in his balls reminded him of the pleasurable abuse. Maybe his cum was still leaking out of that tight, pink little... Dean cleared his throat. "Between the two of us big badass hunters, you're one sticky, dirty boy. Not that I can get it up again right now." 

* * *

"If I haven't lost my mind yet, it's only because you're here," Sam confided. "That's why I don't want to shower alone. Besides, I'm not the only one who's sticky, at least I seem to remember that I did a good job shooting all over you," he grinned, "but I'm afraid I'm done shooting today," he groaned. "My balls feel like oranges that went through a juicer, in terms of size, consistency, and stickiness." He shuddered.

"Come on." Sam padded over to the tiny bathroom as well as he could with his sore groin, and turned on the shower. So far, the hot water in this place had never run out on them, but it would need a minute to get warm. 

* * *

"Right behind ya, buddy. I think my nuts just shriveled up and died in sympathy to yours, if that's your situation," Dean winced. Since he was behind, Sam couldn't see him cringe, which was just as well. His younger brother's stiff gait couldn't be more obvious. Following him into the bathroom, Dean wondered how to alleviate the soreness. For once, Sam was just as bowlegged as him. 

They waited for the water to heat up in the shower. It struck Dean that the last time they'd bathed or showered together, they'd been small children. As soon as Sam had been able to capably wash himself, Dean had begged off that duty, plus Sam had always been private, starting at preschool age. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sammy, but you're walking like someone just fucked you up the ass. Is there any, uh, remedy for that, that you know of?" After all, Sam was not a small guy and he was hot; he attracted attention just by walking into a room. Dean doubted he cared to have the world able to deduce the details of his sex life. 

* * *

"Not taking this the wrong way: after all, someone just _did_ fuck me up the ass." Sam grinned. "I guess I'll have to deal with the soreness. Not that I mind too much, because I'm kinda proud of having such a well-endowed lover." He flashed a wide smile at Dean. "Doesn't mean I won't check for some cream when I go get your hair dye. The stuff moms put on their babies' butts should do the..."

"Okay," Sam interrupted himself, "Babies weren't what I had in mind when thinking of ointment. Shit." He sighed. "Wanna bet that from now on we'll be surrounded by pregnant women and lots of young families? It's Murphy's law."

He reached behind the shower curtain. "On a nicer note, the water is warm. You ready to scrape off some _stuff?"_

* * *

"There's gotta be something better than diaper rash ointment," Dean tossed back with a grin. He doubted he'd ever been so relaxed with anyone. "That's one kink I'll never try. Remember Alexandria? That's all we saw during that Incan mummy case in the Capitol Hill area: pregnant bellies and strollers, everyone walking their butt-sniffing dogs. We'll live." 

When Sam declared the water warm enough and stepped into the shower, Dean followed closely, keeping a sharp eye on his brother lest he slip, then got him turned around. Mostly, he just admired the view and found he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Once Dean touched that warm, wet skin, he had to keep touching. The goal was to wash away the dried and sticky cum, and Dean got busy with the soap. Coating Sam's chest with lather first, Dean was careful not to pull the matted hairs, but instead worked them loose a few at a time from the crusted semen. Then he sluiced the mess away by redirecting the spray. 

Rivulets ran down Sam's sculpted torso, highlighting taut nipples, the six-pack abs Dean envied, the narrowing from chest to waist. Not even realizing he was doing it at first, Dean traced the lines of his brother's body with his fingertips. He looked up to make sure it was okay – Sam had gone motionless and allowed him to explore. As he washed away more 'stuff', Dean had to admit he copped a few feels. They weren't boobs but Sam's pecs were every bit as appealing, they and his shoulders were both round and hard from bulked muscle with soft skin covering all. The trail of hair below Sam's navel lead to treasures, but Dean kept his touches there to a minimum, more running water than anything, since he knew Sam was sore as hell.

It wasn't exactly arousal he felt right now. Affection, warmth, love, belonging – it all welled up. Dean's hands closed around Sam's biceps and squeezed tight. He bent down and flicked one nipple a few times with his tongue, then the other. "Might take a few weeks to clean you like that," he managed in a low, raspy hitch. "But for now, I suppose I'd better get your backside. Unless you'd rather."

* * *

Shuddering at the memory, Sam replied, "I'd rather adopt an Incan mummy than one of these lapdogs. I mean not that I blame the dogs, but seriously? Pink hair ribbons and barrettes are bad enough on little girls, but come on, on a dog?" He snorted. "Poor things probably had pink assholes to go along with it." Sam shuddered even more when another thought entered his mind. "Oh god," he groaned, "I hope we won't have a girl! Then again, as you said, we'll live." 

He took a deep breath and tried to relax under the shower. The warm spray certainly helped, and Dean's hands soaping him down felt even better. The touches were gentle and Sam smiled when he noticed the awe and curiosity on Dean's face as he was allowed to explore Sam's body. It was clear that Dean had done this more than once in his mind, and the love and affection he now felt shone clearly on his face.

Sam enjoyed the closeness and being washed. As long as he could remember, he'd always craved human contact, but he'd been forced to go without it for most of his life. Their father had put a stop on Sam seeking physical comfort from Dean whenever he was around, and if that hadn't been enough of a warning, Jess's death had rammed the message home with brutal force: Winchesters couldn't afford ties to anyone unless they wanted them dead.

Dean, on the other hand, had internalized John's lecture on keeping his distance to everyone, even Sam – or so Sam had thought. Now, with his brother's hands on him, he was beginning to wonder how much Dean had hidden from him in order to keep him safe. Well, from this day on, there wouldn't be any more distance between them.

Lost in thought and feeling loved and cherished, Sam almost missed that Dean had finished washing his front. However, a soft tongue on his nipples brought him back to the present and he moaned. Despite being sexually depleted, his nipples immediately stiffened into needy, throbbing peaks. They were what had started all this and Sam knew by now that he could never get enough of having them played with.

Still, when Dean let up and offered, insecure, to wash Sam's backside, Sam felt also a hint of relief. There was no way he could get physically aroused again soon and as awesome as Dean's tongue felt on his nipples, Sam's dick and balls would kill him if this went any further.

He looked into Dean's eyes. They were wide open and trusting as he hadn't seen them in a long time. "Dean," Sam said, his voice hoarse with emotion, "there's nobody else I'd let anywhere near my back, but with you, I can't wait for you to help me clean it." He grinned to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. "My ass is yours, and yours alone as long as you take such good care of it."

* * *

"Not interested in looking at a dog's butt, but your asshole is little, pink and cute," Dean told his brother, looking up into his eyes. "Yeah, I know that sounds silly. But it's true, and I love it. Every part of you." They stayed like that awhile, staring each other down. Dean had had Sam memorized in every phase of his life except the Stanford years, but at some point while they were still quite young, it had become fleeting and furtive. Their dad didn't put up with them cuddling, even hugging, in his sight. They'd never made a habit of it even when alone, or it would've been too easy to forget themselves and get in trouble. He felt like a damned girl, gazing into his lover's eyes, but he couldn't stop till he'd drunk his fill of Sam's features, from his wide forehead, to slanted, multicolored eyes, sharp nose, the dark dots of moles beside his nose and on the side of his pointed chin, and the lips that kissed him and sucked him and told him everything... everything.

"If I had to choose, I'd want a boy, too, but just because if it's a girl I'd worry about her having to deal with horny dudes like me. Like I _was,"_ Dean clarified. As long as he was with Sam, he would touch no other. "It doesn't matter, as long as he or she is okay. As long as you're okay." His voice clotted in his throat and shook with emotion. Before he embarrassed himself, Dean escaped around Sam's side to begin washing his backside. His ass. Or, _Dean's_ , as Sam had declared it. 

And it was a nice one. Like the rest of him, Sam's glutes were all muscle. Looking down, Dean admired the swell of the peachy cheeks framed by the cut of muscle on the sides and the small, round sacral dimples above. He was standing behind, near enough his junk was close to the negative wedge shape of Sam's crack. If either of them had been up for more play, he'd have leaned forward and nestled in right then. 

But he had a job to do. Dean paused to reach outside the shower to grab a washcloth off the shelf above the toilet. Enough spray misted around Sam to allow Dean to get the cloth soaked through. "Tell me – immediately – if anything hurts you when I wash.... I know you can take it, Sam; you've proved that. This isn't about toughing it out." 

Next time, Dean was going to reconsider the shower situation. He could already see a bath would be better for Sam. This being a typical cheap roadside motel, the shower stall came equipped with just a showerhead, no flexible hose, and no tub. It was up to him. Starting at the top of Sam's ass, Dean worked his way down slowly, smoothing the cloth from side to side with one hand, following with the bare palm of his other hand to make sure he removed every trace of goo. At first, he had trouble, but when he passed the lower curve and began to wash underneath, there was cum everywhere, and it was a congealed mess. Water and pressure were enough to sluice away what had adhered to Sam's skin. The tricky part was that it was also stuck in the downy hairs of his ass, the coarser ones... Farther up. Dean didn't even know how to be delicate about it. The women he'd been with had all been exfoliated to within an inch of their lives, and Sam was _au natural_. Then there were long, wiry hairs on the back of his ballsack, and the thick forest on his legs, where it had run down in strings after he'd stood up from their bed. 

Scared of doing more harm than good, Dean knelt down. If he had to loosen one hair at a time, he would. Face about waist-level, he gently, slowly, spread Sam's cheeks to clean away the evidence of his own release. The formerly little pink hole looked, to put it bluntly, bunged out. Cream still leaked from the swollen center. "Sam... I, uh... I think I filled you up good." Dean didn't know whether to be smug or apologize. He just kept washing, now with only a light finger – the puffy opening looked too sore to use the cloth on it. Nudging Sam's feet to a wider stance, he worked at the now-gelatinous tracks down the insides of his brother's strong thighs. 

It seemed to take forever, but eventually, the leftover seed all melted away down the drain. Now he had no reason to keep his hands cupped on his brother's ass, other than he wanted to. "Next time," he reiterated his earlier thought, "we won't wait so long to clean you up. Or you can have a bath, instead." Because he was still there, knees aching, talking to the butt, Dean kissed Sam's right cheek. Then the left. He blew out a breath, warm and humid. "Want more? I'll be careful. ...Or too sore?" Leaning in, Dean licked the upper border of Sam's rim once, lightly. 

* * *

When Dean focused on his sore hole, Sam didn't enjoy being washed quite as much as he had before, but it was part of the process, and calm breathing helped him through it. Then Dean took on the tedious job of loosening the dry spunk from his hair. It took a long time, and Sam gradually relaxed again under his brother's careful yet determined hands.

"Do you remember when we were little, I always wanted to wash myself? I wanted to be grown up and independent and it made me mad when you checked that I'd brushed my teeth and all," Sam mused. "The boys in school always bragged how they'd fooled their parents by wetting the toothbrush, but I never did. I didn't want to disappoint you, but I also couldn't wait to be allowed to do everything on my own."

He sighed. "In hindsight, that was a huge mistake. Being washed by you feels so nice, I really should have appreciated it more when I was small. Poor you, always having to put up with me back then. I bet I was a pain in your ass."

Sam smiled when Dean rinsed the last of the dried cum off his legs. "I'd offer to make it up to you, but maybe you'd rather postpone being washed by me until another day when you're not desperately waiting for me to be done so I can hurry to the drugstore for your hair dye. So, what would you have me do now, clean you up or go on a supply run?"

* * *

The fact the Sam didn't answer his suggestive lick told Dean that his brother wasn't into it. Hell, he was probably too sore to tell the difference between a tongue and anything else right now. 

"Brushing your teeth rather than faking probably saved you a lot of cavities. Lord knows Dad wouldn't have spared any money for the dentist." They both remembered the one time Dean had had trouble with a tooth. It had been another fast move to another state to escape CPS. "I've always referred to you as my pain-in-the-ass little brother," Dean countered lightly. "You know that. You never appreciated it much, however affectionately I mighta meant it. Now I'm the pain in your ass, huh? Literally." He sincerely hoped Sam could find something at the store to help with that. Having checked up close, Dean knew there was no real damage, but the same could be said for all manner of bruises and pulled muscles – they still hurt. 

"I suppose you'd better go on that supply run," he said, a little regretful. "The drizzle from the water did most of the work, washing me. You plastered my chest and stomach with your 'stuff' but it's gone now." Remembering Sam's squeezed-shut eyes and open, snarling mouth issuing deep groans as he shot all over them both had Dean's dick twitching. He knew better, though. Standing carefully, he reached around Sam and turned off the water. Even sopping wet, his brother exuded pheromones. "Don't forget to spray yourself again." 

With that, Dean exited the shower and grabbed a fresh towel, then handed the last one to Sam. The others had been left somewhere in the room. Probably tangled in with the thoroughly crusted sheets. He wrinkled his nose as he dried off. Their poor maid! He wasn't going to dress now, so he just sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam cover his stellar body with clothes. They never had many wearable clothes, and any dye that dripped wouldn't come out in the wash.

* * *

He'd almost forgotten about the smells. Sam reached for the deodorant and applied a good measure to his armpits. After thinking for a second, he added some to his chest but decided to leave his groin as it was. The spray contained alcohol and using it there would hurt like hell. Dean would just have to suck it up.

When he followed Dean back to their room, the air, heavy with sweat and semen, struck him like a freight train. "Maybe I should get some air freshener as well," he quipped as he put his pants on, wincing when he pulled them all the way up and the fabric chafed on his sore hole. 

"And maybe I should buy a skirt to wear until this heals," he joked half-heartedly, anxious that Dean shouldn't feel guilty. It was probably a futile attempt as Dean always seemed to feel guilty for whatever happened to Sam, even when Dean had nothing to do with it. A wave of annoyance hit him. It wasn't his brother's fault that their Dad had usually blamed Dean for everything that concerned Sam, but the apologetic face Dean wore so often tended to get on Sam's nerves more and more. 

Right, he'd better get out of here before he started a fight. Smiling without humor, Sam thought that the day before he'd wondered what the hell was wrong with him, why he was pissed off all the time. For some reason, he'd assumed that knowing why would solve the problem. Now that he had an idea of what was actually going on, he found that it didn't help at all.

He grabbed the bullet chain with the keys to the Impala and left.

At the drugstore, two men were standing at the baby care section. Sam cast his eyes down and grabbed the nearest cream off the shelf, then proceeded to the hair products. Most of the dyes were obviously for women, but he found a small selection for men at the bottom of a shelf. While he was still kneeling in front of it and debating with himself which color looked closest to Dean's natural hair, the two men from earlier approached. He hadn't looked at them properly in his attempt to appear inconspicuous, but he recognized their voices. Standing up with the dye he'd chosen, he thought he'd faint when he noticed that one of the men had snow white hair. More, he had his hand on the other man's belly, just like an aspiring father would with his pregnant...

He felt bile rise and fled to the checkout. Eventually, he found himself in the Impala, driving back to the motel, not really sure how he'd gotten there, but he told himself that he had a really good excuse for what could only have been a panic attack. By the time he unlocked the door to their room, he thought he'd regained control over his emotions, but as soon as Dean's eyes fell on him, he knew that he couldn't lie to his brother.

"Dean," Sam began, "the weirdest thing just happened. There were a couple of men at the drugstore, one of them with white hair, and they behaved as if the other guy was pregnant." He started to hyperventilate.

* * *

As Sam got dressed and ready, Dean continued to sit and watch him. It was true that no one would mistake the lingering scent of man-sex for anything but what it was. "I'll open a window while you're gone, air the place out. Air freshener probably wouldn't hurt, as long as it doesn't smell like old lady perfume." 

Sam's comment about wearing a skirt prompted a snort. While it was another reference to his sore hole, which Dean wished wasn't a natural consequence, he couldn't do much now besides wait for his brother to heal. "A skirt? Nah, but I wouldn't mind you in a kilt, Sammy. It might be kinda sexy. 'Specially if you went commando underneath." His gentle teasing only seemed to annoy Sam now, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Sam grabbed the keys and left. 

In the meantime, Dean decided to put on underwear and a ratty old t-shirt. He might as well do something productive. Sam had left his laptop on and open to his email from Dr. Hostinson, which Dean read. Now they knew that men waking up with white hair had impregnated their... partner. He'd have said 'recently impregnated', but with him and Sam, it was three months ago. With the Hookers, neither he nor Sam had thought to ask how far along Nita was. Hostinson threw a wrench in Dean's tentative theory of it striking when they just learned of the pregnancy. She had to have known for months, and her husband as well. Unless he'd been away, such as overseas with the military, and she'd kept it as a surprise. Or maybe there'd been some question of paternity just recently answered. That was one worry that never crossed Dean's mind. How a pregnant man happened at all and how Sam would survive it, sure. But not if he was the biological father. Yeah, he'd worn a condom that time. But they weren't 100% foolproof, not to mention something supernatural had to be involved. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise, to think that some unknown monster had been involved in something so private between him and Sam.

Before he could put more pieces together, Sam burst in, babbling about something he'd seen at the drugstore. It made little sense – Sam went off in a rapid-fire stream of consciousness. About all Dean could make out was there'd been another white-haired dude at the store with a pregnant... Man? He had no time to ask for specifics with Sam unable to catch his breath. "Sam... Sammy listen to me!" Dean pushed his brother over to the bed, then down on it, and sat next to his randomly twitching body. "Stop talking. Breathe with me, slow and even." He demonstrated. At first, Sam continued to gasp out words, while he gasped for air. "Later, okay? Just breathe now. In. Out." 

Putting a hand on Sam's chest, Dean felt the racing pulse. Sam's heart beat hard, pounding against the inside of his ribs like a prisoner in a cage. His face was flushed unhealthy red and the veins on his neck and temples were popping. "C'mon, Sammy..." Again, Dean took a deep breath in and out while he held Sam's darting eyes and asked him to do the same. Something had seriously spooked his brother. They'd been scared for their lives – rightly so – many times, but it wasn't like Sam to panic. The situation wasn't immediately life-threatening, as far as he could tell. 

At last Sam looked directly at him and tried to listen. He kept trying to pull in air, but his lungs were already full – he needed to let it out. Dean considered just knocking him out. Finally though, Sam's chest contracted under his hand as he managed to blow some of the stale air out. 

* * *

It took Sam a long time to regain his breath, but Dean's hand on his chest helped, and in the end he managed to speak again. "Sorry for that," he said, his voice still a little wheezy, "but... this... whatever it is, maybe we finally have a real clue here. I mean, do we believe that men who knocked someone up waking up with white hair is a coincidence?" He immediately answered his own question. "We don't. Now, I dunno how along the Hookers are. I'm three months," he shuddered, "and the Doc looks ready to burst, which she may not yet be, but she's obviously been pregnant for much longer than three months. On the other hand, the white hair only started, what, less than a week ago."

Sam looked at Dean. "I think it's pretty safe to conclude that whatever is behind this has only recently settled here. Or maybe it's something that's only come to light here in the first place, since we haven't found any similar occurrence anywhere – or anywhen – else."

He took a deep breath. "Maybe the white hair isn't directly related to the pregnancies at all but more like, it goes after fertile men. Oh, and I'm not making this up to compliment you," Sam smiled weakly. "Just trying to make sense out of everything."

* * *

"No need to apologize. We all have our moments. So... The monster likes fertile men. I suppose it makes sense." It was strange to remove himself to being of part of a group, Dean reflected. Same for being classified as 'fertile'. He'd always associated the word with females, and it was something to avoid, although that was a double-edged sword because the ones most likely to get knocked up were usually the hottest to get laid. 

"So... This monster is going after men who've proven they can," he cringed, "successfully inseminate someone. Do you think it's a female monster, well, as female as monsters get? She, it, whatever must wanna procreate. Maybe..." Oh, Dean was really reaching now, but they had to connect the dots somehow, "the white hair is a rejection. Or a sign of an unsuccessful, uh, mating?" It was so out there, the suggestion left his mouth in the form of a question. "All the vics on record have had nightmares or freaky hallucinations, including me. Breeding attempt gone bad?" 

Then he remembered what Sam had tried to tell him about the two men at the store. "You said something earlier. You thought one of the dudes was..." He couldn't even say it, the concept was so bizarre. Weird things happened to Winchesters and hunters, but with ordinary men – either nothing or they ended up dead. "What made you think that? What was he doing? Is it possible it was a very masculine looking woman, even transitioning, like a sex change?" 

* * *

"I'm not sure of anything," Sam admitted, "but let's continue the brainstorming. Maybe we find another common denominator or something that makes sense, like your suggestion that it wants to procreate. Could it be that it's frustrated for not succeeding because it doesn't get that in order to conceive it needs a body? At least, if we're talking classic pregnancy – okay, scrap that, men getting pregnant isn't classic at all, but you know what I mean. All the guys have had dreams but if I understand right there was no physical encounter."

He looked at Dean. "If it is indeed a female something that wants to breed, it's either very stupid or inexperienced. It could also be a male that's frustrated because it can't impregnate anyone and takes it out on virile men. Same cause, no body, no pregnancy; same assumption that it's a newbie or stupid. Or both." Sam grinned without humor.

"About the dudes in the drugstore, maybe I overreacted," Sam admitted. "They looked just like normal guys. Or you could be right, one of them could have been a woman, and I didn't look too closely, just wanted out of there." He shuddered, then resumed speaking. "It was more the way they behaved... No actually," he let his thoughts return to the hair dye aisle, "it was the way they stood there. You know, whenever there's a picture of a pregnant woman with her man, he's behind her with his hands on her belly. That's what I saw and what made the association that the guy is pregnant..."

Sam suddenly turned to face Dean. "Promise me one thing. I still can't believe this whole pregnancy thing, but if this is really happening, I want you to promise that you won't put your hands on my belly like these white picket fence dads do." He thought for a moment and continued with a grin, "Because if you do, I'll make sure to find someone to take a picture of it and I'll never let you live it down."

* * *

Dean had to chuckle over Sam's assertion that the monster was inexperienced or stupid. He joined in, "We don't know if it was physically present or not, during the dreams. Could have the power of invisibility. Maybe it doesn't know how to get with a man. Physically, I mean." Shaking his head, he added, "Imagine being that desperate for it and not even knowing about inserting Tab A into Slot B... Or about 'stuff'. Lame." 

Then he had another bright idea. "If it's a guy monster... thing, why aren't the women having dreams, too? Unless they are, but Nita didn't say anything and that woman could talk. But back to the how. In whatever lore we've found that's even close to what this thing's doing, either they steal life-force and possibly seed, or they do the knocking up. If it keeps coming back at the rate of one or two new vics a day, something ain't working. Could be the last of its kind or a new mutation or even a half-breed, cross-breed kinda thing, like a liger or a coywolf." Dean had run out of supposition. "None of that helps us. We'll have to catch it, and now neither of us is bait any longer. You're pregnant and my hair already turned. Unless..." He brightened. "Unless it's so stupid that dying my hair will fool it." 

Sam's vision of white picket fences and a happy expecting couple made Dean shudder. He had a feeling his face contorted like he'd smelled something rotten. "No way, not going in for any of that sappy schlock. If I try it, punch me in the face. I wouldn't refuse to touch your belly if you wanted me to, but we're not posing for any Kodak moments." Behaving like that was bad enough, but the thought of others witnessing it twisted Dean's gut. He was not some sentimental wuss. 

Moving on. "Did you remember to actually buy some hair dye?" Dean asked. Earlier, Sam had stormed in all riled up; he saw no evidence of anything they'd discussed needing. 

* * *

"What? Oh yeah, sure." Startled by Dean's question at first, Sam realized that he'd forgotten to take the bag from the drugstore. "I got your hair dye – and my butt cream – in the car. Just wait a sec while I go get it."

When he returned a moment later, he handed the dye package over to Dean. "They didn't have a large selection for guys, but I think this matches your natural hair color. It's the closest I could find." He frowned. "It says that it helps cover first gray hair, so it should be able to handle white. There's plastic gloves and some sort of cape so the stuff won't eat through your shirt. I can help you with it if you like?" Sam grinned. "Can't wait to get my hands on you again. In return, you can take care of my ass if that's okay with you."

Sam brought his thoughts back to the case. "I'm not sure that I like the idea of you as bait. I mean, what you described from that dream didn't exactly sound pleasant. Besides, could the thing really be so stupid that it doesn't realize your hair is dyed?" Suddenly, an idea struck him. "Or maybe that's why the guys it's harassed have white hair, so it can recognize its former victims. Hey, maybe that's the only damage the thing can do, give people nightmares and turn their hair white, what do you think?" He looked at his brother expectantly.

"Then again, whatever it is or does, it could learn to do more damage, so we gotta find and kill it in any event. And you know what else, if this is a new monster, someone could have had a hand in this. Remember that we discussed the sulfuric springs? When I dismissed them earlier as a natural phenomenon and nothing demonic, I may have overlooked that they'd offer a good opportunity to hide demonic activity. I think it's time to check for local witch covens and such."

* * *

When Sam said "butt cream", Dean giggled – seriously giggled – behind his hand. Not only did it sound funny, as in humorous, Sam's dry, long-suffering tone added to the effect. His brother then darted out to the car for said items. Somewhere along the road, Dean had heard pregnancy made some women temporarily forgetful. Maybe Sam, too, although he himself was a fine one to talk after forgetting where he'd left his notebook and gun, earlier that day. Then the box of dye in his hand distracted him. The guy on the front had dirt-blond hair, the color Dean's had been a few years ago. It would do. Though his hair continued to darken over time, he still thought of himself as blond. Not today, though – he had a lot more to cover than a few gray strands. Hopefully there'd be enough.

Sam's ready confession that he wanted to touch and be touched, to have Dean's hands on him made him blink hard and nearly drop the box. Blood rushed southward, and saliva filled his mouth. "Hell, yeah! I'll take care of your ass, Sammy. I'll take care of that ass so good," rolled from his lips, double entendre intended. Just as the front of his boxers started to bulge, Sam pulled a 180. 

"Uh, mmm..." Dean struggled to keep up. "Yes, I do think it's that stupid." He waved the box for emphasis. "No one's died – yet, as you said. What's the last time we even had a case where someone wasn't dead? Could be a young one, still learning. If so, it's riding the short bus." 

Interesting – besides the very recent reports of unexpected color changes in the coifs of a few local men, Elko was known for the hot water and sulfur springs Sam had mentioned. He'd found it online when he'd looked up the town's history and attractions. The name of it...! Dean struggled again, this time not to laugh outright. "Good idea, bro. Witches are always up to something, and the stench is probably something they'd like. What's the name of that place again?" 

* * *

"You mean the Elko Hot Hole?" Sam grinned. "Hm, it's a tourist attraction. If witches summoned this thing there and they're as stupid as their creation appears to be, we may be able to catch them on a surveillance or traffic camera. Not that I think they can be so dumb – nor that we'd be so lucky – but you just never know."

He took the box with the hair dye from Dean's hands and read the instructions. "It says here that restoring your virility – sorry, I mean your hair color, of course – will take only fifteen minutes. Should we get started with it? I'll put it on and while it works, you can have a go at my butt. The sooner that's restored the better, too," he leered.

"Um, just wondering. It says here that the dye should not be used for eyebrows, but pubes aren't mentioned. Not sure if it's a good idea for you to volunteer as a guinea pig, if you get my meaning, but I could help you shave."

Sam looked at Dean expectantly.

* * *

"That's the one. The Hot Hole. Like yours," Dean sniggered, smug with getting Sam to say the name of the tourist spot. "I'll always want a go at it. Now, given a choice between strong chemicals versus you with a razor, my junk chooses you. You haven't nicked yourself in years." It was true. Sam had been hell on his face when he was younger, some of which cheap shaving equipment could be responsible for. More than once, John had returned from supply runs, grinning gleefully like Bad Santa as he'd tossed a pack of pink store-brand disposable blades at one of them, which they'd have to make due with for an indeterminate length of time. Like their father, each of the brothers had a full, stubborn beard by the time he hit sixteen. Since his return to hunting, that, like Sam's hair, didn't suffer unless they were months beyond broke. 

"Witches are always stupid, even the smart ones," Dean asserted. "I wouldn't doubt they could mess up their own spell." Seems like that happened a lot, spells gone awry. Other than that some of them were just evil bitches, and that included the males. He walked back to the bathroom and stood before the sink. Since Sam had already opened the box of dye to read the instructions, there was nothing for him to do. The butt cream was self-explanatory. 

"Too bad it's not _my_ cream your ass needs right now. Pretty sure I have enough to coat it well." On that note, Dean wasn't 100 percent sure about the 'well' part after coming several times in very recent history. As a younger man, he'd had enough sex to come dry a few times, and it was excruciating. Especially after Hell, he wasn't into pain, not like that. His balls were filling again though – he could feel it, sure as he knew when he was hungry or when he needed to use the bathroom. The twins shifted a little, as if seconding his motion. 

Sam appeared behind him in the mirror. It was weird to see his brother towering over him. Obviously Dean had to look up if they were both standing; the third-person view was more glaring. The strangest imagery crossed his mind, of Sam behind him like that during sex: controlling him, taking him. But then Dean wrote it off as a momentary lapse. He didn't get with men – other than Sam – and he wasn't the bottom. Besides, Sam would insist on seeing his face during the... what?! Just, no. Dean plunked down on the toilet and motioned at Sam to hurry up. 

* * *

"Yeah, too bad, I hear you," Sam said, "but I'm afraid my hole is really hot as in, it'd burn like hell if it got more action right now. However," he smirked, "your cream would work miracles on my sore nipples, don't you think? And mine... well, I wouldn't suggest to use it as shaving cream but maybe as after shave balm?"

He coughed when he noticed that a bulge was forming in his pants as well as in Dean's. "Let's speed this dye job up, shall we?"

There was a plastic cape that came with the dye that Sam wrapped around Dean's shoulders. Then he put on the gloves and began spreading the dye on his brother's scalp. "Phew, this stuff stinks," he commented. "Ammonia is still better than sulfur, though, I suppose. Now, it says here that you shouldn't use it on your eyebrows. Wanna try nevertheless? If it burns, we can wash it off and if it looks weird, we can shave them off later, but it'll look weird with white eyebrows and I'll make sure none of the stuff gets into your eyes."

* * *

"That's very... creative of you." Now Dean was at least half hard and a glance at Sam's crotch revealed definite stirrings for him, too. Dean resisted the urge to rub the swelling, since he was about to be subject to the harsh chemicals Sam was currently mixing like the little science nerd he was. The intent way he concentrated on the smelly liquid was cute. Knowing how sensitive – and sore – Sam's nipples were, Dean was even more inclined to... "I'll whip you up a nice big batch. And I can't wait for your special brand of lotion, either," he husked out. 

However, about then Sam squirted the dye onto his hair and worked it into all the short strands. "Ugh, yeah, it totally stinks. Man, why do women do this on a regular basis?" Dean groused, covering his nose. He had to close his eyes, too. The noxious fumes had quite a bite. He hemmed and hawed for a minute about his eyebrows. He'd still have white eyelashes, but they would be less noticeable, or so he hoped. "You can try dying my eyebrows, rather than shave them off. I trust you. Just be careful, I don't want to look like a freak – either eyebrow-less or with clown make-up." That should drive his point home. Sam hated clowns. 

* * *

"Thanks for giving me that mental image," Sam shuddered. "Need I tell you how glad I am that you shaved this morning – your face, I mean? With a white beard you'd look like a clown unless it's a foot long and then you'd look like Santa." He grinned. "Nah, don't worry. I'm pretty sure that this dye will work on your eyebrows and I'll soon have my old Dean back."

Very carefully, Sam applied some of the dye to Dean's eyebrows. "Okay, now we have ten minutes until washing it out. How about you take care of my ass now?" he held up the tube of baby lotion.

* * *

"The old – young – Dean, you mean." Looking like an old man wasn't going to cut it, although he'd been spared the aches, pains and digestive malfunctions of real geriatrics. If they were right and the monster wouldn't know the difference, it could be back soon to finish what it had started and this ridiculous hunt would be over. 

A few times in his life, Dean had had his hair cut in a barber shop but mostly by his clipper-wielding dad, or later, himself. None of that was the least bit sexual. Having someone else mess with his head made him squirm from the physical closeness. Heat radiated from Sam's body; the bulge before him grew till the outline of a massive erection and generous balls below would've been visible to a blind man. What Sam did next, the simple act of him handing the tube of baby butt goop over and asking for his turn, had Dean at full attention and leaking.

"You wanna lie down on the bed or bend over right here?" Dean asked bluntly, squinting up at Sam through the waves of ammonia fumes. "Then maybe I can help with your other problem before you poke my eye out." 

* * *

"I'll bend over right here," Sam snorted. "However, I suggest we leave every other action for later, after I washed the goop from your hair. As much as I'd appreciate help with my 'other problem' I don't want to risk getting caught up in it and losing track of time. The dye instructions said not to leave the stuff in longer, so we want to avoid an unexpected chemical reaction that could have you ending up with pink hair, like we sometimes see in old people. Besides, the stink isn't very appealing." He shuddered.

Sam shrugged out of his pants and underwear and leaned over the sink, squirming with – mental as well as physical – discomfort as he spread his legs. "Um, okay, please let's get this over with as quickly as possible."

* * *

"Just want a quickie, huh?" Standing, Dean flicked open the cap of the tube with his thumbnail. The picture of Sam bent over, broad back and shoulders tapering down to narrow hips, below that his tight, round cheeks slightly spread and long legs wide apart exposing his hole nearly made Dean cum, but he stopped his balls from drawing up with a quick yank. All that power and strength, submitting to his care. "It would be, too. I'm close just looking at you. Dammit, Sammy... You're so fucking hot I dunno how I'm going to be able to control myself." He hurried to add, "But I will." 

Besides not wanting pink, as Sam suggested, or blue hair, which he'd also seen in little old ladies, Dean wanted Sam to heal as fast as possible and to not hurt. He squeezed a blob of the lotion on the first two fingers of his right hand, transferring it to Sam's crack, right above the hole, and smeared it downward in a thick layer. Not satisfied, Dean dabbed more into the center. Sam was justifiably tense, his sphincter a rigid ring. Tracing it around, and around again, slick with the medicated ointment, he noticed how his brother trembled and then relaxed some. "Feel better? It might help if I could get a little just inside," he murmured. "Think you could let just the tip of my pinkie in?"

* * *

Sam tensed when Dean's fingers first touched him, but the lotion felt cool on his sore hole and he gradually relaxed. How was it possible that Dean's hands, rough and calloused from fighting and handling weapons all his life, could be so gentle? 

"You're amazing," Sam said while continuing breathing calmly. "I'm feeling better already and although I can't honestly say that I want anything inside me right now, please do it. I'm sure it'll promote healing and the sooner I'll be ready for you again the better." He turned his head so Dean could see his smile.

"And since you're close from just looking at me, I won't complain if you cream my nipples once you're done with my ass, as long as you make it before, uh," he checked his watch, "seven minutes are up. Deal?"

* * *

Sam said yes, even smiled as if Dean were the one who needed reassurance rather than himself. Before anyone changed their mind, Dean recoated the tip of his little finger with lotion and wiggled it just a fraction of an inch into the center of the pink aperture. The tiny opening tried to close, the squeeze going straight to his straining dick. He rotated his wrist 90 degrees in one direction, being careful with his fingernail, then the other. Sam bore it without a peep. As soon as he was certain all surfaces needing soothing were covered, Dean pulled his hands away.

"All done, Sammy, you did good," he crooned, removing his fingers entirely. "Turn around, sit. I can do it in less than three minutes."

He could, too. By now, Dean's groin felt heavy with various built-up fluids. He reached into his boxers and pulled out his blood-flushed erection. Immediately he stroked upward to the head and spread the leaking dew as lube. Less than an hour and he was starved for touch again! Impatient, Dean shoved the waistband of his underwear under his balls. Sam had sat on the lid of the toilet. Kneeing his thighs apart, Dean jostled in close, leaning forward with one hand to the wall over Sam's head to brace himself and the other pumping his shaft. 

He couldn't stop the rush. Dean fucked his own fist, not caring how Sam could see up close his obscene, dog-like humping. Each upstroke, he gave a twist of his wrist or a sweep of his thumb across the screaming nerve endings of his glans. He just needed one more little thing. "Play with my balls, Sam..." he whined. "Gotta let it go..." 

* * *

Sam's eyes widened when Dean began stroking himself. This wasn't what he'd expected: he'd thought Dean would laugh his suggestion off as a joke. Watching his brother fisting his purple erection hit Sam like a punch to the gut and he struggled for breath when all his blood suddenly fled downward.

"God, Dean," he gasped, "that's... you're... awesome," he finished lamely. But what was there to say when he had this gorgeous dick right before his eyes, so close that he could smell how ready Dean was to blow his wad, even through the chemical haze from the hair dye.

Before he could get his – upstairs – brain online again, Dean asked him to play with his balls. This time, Sam reacted on pure instinct; before Dean had even finished speaking, Sam was already weighing the heavy and dense glands in his hands, relieved that he'd chucked the plastic gloves earlier. Dean whined with need and Sam couldn't help teasing him a little while he rolled the marble-hard stones in the tightening sac.

"Who's stopping you, bro?" Sam said and swallowed the drool that was forming in his mouth at the prospect of his brother shooting all over his chest and painting his nipples with hot cum. 

"Come on, Dean, let it go... For me..."

* * *

Just as he'd imagined, Sam's fingers skillfully petting his sac, rolling and squeezing the contracted testes within, brought Dean right to the edge. The pressure built till it felt like a screaming teakettle and he couldn't take any more. "Nngh! No one... Nothing's stopping... me," Dean groaned, stroking furiously. 

Through watering eyes, he looked down to aim his dripping slit directly over Sam's left nipple. "Nnngh, oh fuck yeah..." Everything broke: his control, his nuts, maybe his mind. Orgasm ripped through him, and Dean threw his head back and cried out wordlessly as he spasmed. Four jets of cream splattered where he aimed, white froth decorating Sam's over-sensitized nipple. The next two went everywhere as he somehow regained enough presence of mind to try to move to his left. In the end, Dean milked his cock for the last dregs to anoint Sam's other hard little nub. He tapped the head against the reddened peak, rising up on his toes for the last shot. Another milky droplet or two seeped up, which he pressed to the rest of the sticky mess. 

His empty balls cursed his name in a dull pounding throb like a misplaced headache. Dean himself shook through a moment of aftershocks, then carefully stretched out each of his legs, one at a time. In bed, his toes would have curled tightly but standing, they threatened to cramp.

"Awesome..." he repeated somewhat stupidly. Then, "Hope they like the Dean special." Sam was a mess – again – but grinning like a loon and gingerly touching the 'stuff' to work it in to the sore flesh. Apparently he _did_ like Dean's special treatment. Dean remembered the time limit, but was sure he hadn't exceeded it. "So was I the two-minute man, or what?" he quipped. Then he looked down again, lower, and saw how Sam's erection was creating a wet spot over the thick head of it. His brother had to need it bad. Really bad. And Dean... He wanted another taste, and he wanted his Sammy crying and trembling and spurting all the seed in those big balls just for him. "I don't think you want this dye near your man-parts. It's nasty – and caustic. Let's get this shit out of my hair and I'll suck you off." 

* * *

Watching Dean lose it was still new for Sam but he was sure he'd never get enough of it. What he was experiencing right now was, however, far more than just watching, it was a surround sound adventure that involved all of Sam's senses and brought them close to overloading.

When the first jet splattered on Sam's nipple, he thought he'd swoon. The heat and scent of the frothy cream engulfed the stiffened and sore nub. Before Sam could comprehend that it was actually ejaculated with real pressure, the second burst hit and he joined his brother's deep moans. Had anything ever felt so good before? 

Two more loads blasted from Dean's slit and he moved closer as he aimed for Sam's other nipple to reward it with the same treatment and make sure it was anointed with cream. It clearly was an effort for Dean to get his bearings, but he managed. When the spurts weakened, Sam watched him milk out the final drops and made the tiny wet slit kiss Sam's reddened hard nub.

Dean looked shaky on his legs and Sam put a hand on his hip in order to steady him. His own erection was so hard now that it hurt, as did his balls, regardless of having been utterly and completely drained less than an hour before. Still, he couldn't move as his eyes were frozen to his chest where the slowly cooling jizz was dripping from his stinging nipples.

"Dean," Sam stammered, "th-that was... awesome. _You're_ awesome. And yeah, let's get this shit out of your hair so you can suck me off or I swear I'll die from blue balls."

He got up from the toilet seat and turned his still trembling brother to the sink. "I need you to bend over – only your head – and make sure to keep your eyes closed while I rinse out the dye."

* * *

It felt damned good, not just the release, or the visual stimulation of blasting Sam with his cum, but at the same time giving something only he could because Sam only wanted it from him. "Yeah, I'm awesome," Dean echoed. He was swaying on his feet a little. Right now, neither of them were exactly packing maximum brain capacity if Sam was resorting to Dean's go-to word. Right after an orgasm, Dean always felt – and probably looked – like a drooling half-wit. 

But speaking of packing, Sam, with his huge purple erection with noticeably tight, hard balls snugged up below stood and demanded Dean bend over. Just for rinsing his hair of course, but still Dean's instincts were to balk or fight. The pheromone cloud enveloped him, and he took a moment to calm down. "Right. And the eyebrows." He chuckled weakly and made himself joke, "If I didn't know better, I might think you're trying to get me in a compromising position." Then he actually did bend over the sink to hide his face. Don't ask him why he did it, other than the long, long habit of teasing his little brother – Dean wiggled his ass at him. 

* * *

Sam snorted. "Some guys would consider being caught dyeing their hair more compromising than bending over and wiggling their butt. I totally appreciate the latter, and I plan to take advantage of your ass – I'mma shoot all over it." He groaned. "OK, maybe I should take a deep breath of ammonia to get that idea out of my brain now."

After opening the tap and adjusting the water temperature, Sam began rinsing the dye from Dean's hair. "Your hair looks fine to me," he commented. "It's darker than I thought but it always is when it's wet." He took a towel and mopped up as much water as he could from the top and back of Dean's head. 

"Turn your head sideways and keep your eyes closed," Sam instructed. Dean complied, and soon, the dye was rinsed off his eyebrows as well. Again, Sam carefully wiped off the excess water.

"Now, I hope a quick glance in the mirror is all you need because, seriously, man, I could use a little help here," Sam pointed to his erection.

* * *

Once again, Sam took care to not let any of the stinging goop drip anywhere near Dean's eyes, and he cleaned his face with a wet cloth. It reminded Dean as nothing so much of his earliest memories, of his mother. If his eyes weren't already watering, they might have then. The throbbing flesh that kept brushing against his hip and side distracted him, though, and when Sam asked for his 'help' in a saucy voice, Dean was more than ready to do so, just as he'd assured Sam before they'd rinsed the dye out. 

"I'm sure it's fine. Hardly anyone knows us here, and it looks like a close match. Now lean back and let me work." Dean grinned, backed Sam over to the nearest wall, and knelt down between his canoe-sized feet. 

Curling one fist around the back of that needy cock, he licked up the underside with the flat of his tongue. Long before he reached the head, sweet pre-come coated his taste buds. Dean looked up, opened his mouth wider to lap at the leaking slit, then wider yet to enclose the head in his mouth. Sam's whole body jerked, his dick just after. Reaching up, Dean continued to slide his lips down over the so-hard cavernosa while he weighed Sam's heavy stones, which seemed swollen. Whether from seed or overuse remained to be seen. After a sharp breath in through his nose, Dean applied suction, backing up several inches till he could run his tongue all around the flared ridge resting inside his mouth. He hummed in appreciation and tightened his lips, just as he liked done to him. Quickly finding a rhythm, he bobbed his head, taking more of the thick organ into the back of his throat each time. Sam responded to every flick of Dean's tongue with a moan or gasp or thrust of his pelvis. God, he was gorgeous like that, on the edge of control, hair hanging in his eyes and panting.

Dean could tell by the stalled movements that Sam was trying not to choke him. He didn't care about that, though. Pulling back to gulp in air, he told his lover, "Don't have to be nice, Sammy. Fuck my face... Choke me on your dick. I want you to." 

* * *

Dean didn't linger. After the quickest possible glance at himself in the mirror, he maneuvered Sam against the wall. Before Sam could even make a peep, his eyes rolled back when Dean set his hands and tongue to work.

Gentle licks at his glans made him moan, increasingly so when Dean poked his leaking slit with the tip of his tongue, as if he were trying to wiggle it inside. The thought of getting his _dick_ fucked was scary as hell and arousing at the same time, and he felt a rush of pre-come surge from the tiny opening. Dean lapped it up, then wrapped his lips around the fat head and sucked hard, alternating the strong suction with licks on the rim that made Sam thrust into Dean's mouth despite trying not to. 

Gods, he needed it so bad! His balls were sore and heavy, the down-pull from their weight painful until Dean took care of it by holding them up in his palm. As Sam groaned with relief, Dean continued massaging the swollen glands as if to loosen them up and prepare them for release. Having shot so many loads already, Sam wondered how they could still feel so full and he knew that shooting them dry would hurt, but so did the burning need he felt in every cell of his body.

Meanwhile, Dean had managed to wedge a significant part of Sam's erection into his mouth. Given Sam's size, Dean would probably never be able to take him fully, and for some stupid reason that made Sam proud. He admired, adored even, his older brother, and he knew he'd never measure up with Dean's hunting skills, but dick-size-wise, Sam had the advantage. It also meant that he couldn't let loose as he wanted...

_...and then Dean told – fucking ordered! – him to choke him on his dick!_

A minute ago, Sam had wanted to shoot his load on Dean's hole, but this order made his seed boil over. "Gonna do it," he choked out and rammed himself down his brother's throat. He could see Dean's eyes widen, hoping it was more appreciation than shock, but it was too late to stop anyway; even had he wanted to he couldn't have, and Dean had told him to, after all.

"Dean, fuck, yeah," Sam groaned as his hips took over and he rutted, as if for his life, and that's what it felt like, that he'd die if he didn't come. Only a few seconds later, the floodgates flew open. His spermatic cords contracted violently and he cried out as bursts of cream forced and burned their way through his inner ducts.

"Deeaannn....!!!"

* * *

Sam took him at his word, forcing his dick further and further down Dean's throat as he thrust heavily. Dean couldn't take it all; there was just no way but he did his best, compressing his lips and swallowing against the pressure of his throat being invaded while his mouth filled with saliva. Besides the grunts and moans, Sam's legs trembled with the need to get off hard. Seeming to have lost all control, which heated Dean to the tips of his tingling fingers and toes, Sam warned him that he was about to come and shoved forward like a wild animal. The balls Dean had kept secure in his palm contracted and pulled up almost into Sam's body. A flood of juice spilled in warm bursts down his esophagus. When Dean pulled back a little in surprise, even more fluid was forced into his already-full oral cavity. He had to negotiate the texture and slightly fishy taste, but he'd anticipated that, closed his eyes and swallowed. Immediately he could see that in the future, he should keep the erupting head wedged firmly down the back of his palate, but for now, Dean concentrated on getting down what he could. His hands came up to support Sam as he trembled his way through his climax. The skin under his palms, hot and sweaty, shivered at every touch. 

When it was over, when Sam had nothing left to give, Dean let go of his softened cock with as little jostling as possible. As he well knew from his own experiences, Sam had to be incredibly oversensitive right now. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean carefully climbed to his feet, still leaning against his brother to keep him upright. "That was awesome, Sam, how you... I don't know how you do it... make so much," he remarked, slightly awed. "I'm jealous," he added with a smirk, and took Sam in for a brief hug. 

"As much as I'd like to stay here like this, we'd better get to work," he decided. They'd wasted enough time on this hair-dying, having sex business, not that he regretted either in the least. He made sure Sam wouldn't fall over, then turned a more critical eye on himself in the mirror. "It looks good, Sam. If hunting doesn't work out, you could consider a career as a hair stylist," he teased.

* * *

"God, fuck, Dean!" Sam felt boneless like a squid when his balls finally stopped spasming. He was held upright only by Dean's hands on his hips. The force of his brother's grip was probably enough to give him bruises – that he'd be proud to wear. 

"Shit man, that was..." Dean looked at him with worry written all over his face and Sam noticed belatedly that he was wheezing. "No, I'm good, just..." he managed a grin. "You sucked me dry, bro. As in shooting dust. Didn't you feel the scratch in your throat?"

Dean's eyebrows went up and Sam remembered Dean commenting on the amount of spunk he produced while he'd still been in the throes of his climax. "Seriously, you got all of it sucked out of me and then some. Dean, that was... as you said, awesome..."

Slowly, his body returned from its jelly-like state to normal. "Yeah, I'm afraid you're right," Sam sighed. "Although I like the idea that having hot monkey sex will attract the thing we're after, there's no chance I can get it up again without screaming for a while. Lemme guess, and I'm not trying to insult your libido here, but I assume that you won't mind a little break either."

Sam managed to stand on his own now and followed Dean's glance at the mirror. "You look great, as always," he said and nudged his brother lightly in the side with his elbow. "The hair on your head is almost the right color, and nobody besides you and me will spot a difference. I think I'll pass on the stylist career, though," he teased, "unless that means I can do your hair for the rest of our lives. And that includes downstairs," he added, "although I understand that we agreed on a barber's job there. May I suggest that we leave that for later until we've, um, recharged our balls – I mean batteries, of course?"

* * *

Dean laughed. Maybe light in terms of how much seed was carried in his balls meant how light, the opposite of dark, his mood was. Ironic. "I'm sure we'll both recharge and refill soon, that seems to be the pattern. You..." he waggled his eyebrows for context, "were all juice. No dust. Believe me, I'd have bitched if my throat got sandpapered." 

The barber job had totally slipped his mind, and he said so. "I suppose too many orgasms in one day makes me stupid," he added sheepishly, "so I'll recharge my brain now, too. That sex demon or whatever it is better stay the fuck away from you. I'd be all thumbs, trying to fix your hair. People must spend hundreds trying to get their hair to look like yours." He held out his razor to Sam, handle-first. "Here, you can even use mine. As you can see it's just a cheap disposable, although not pink," he was sure Sam would catch the sideways references. "Just make sure to use lots of... cream." 

By now, his dick had better be well and truly offline, or Dean was going to get hard again when Sam started playing with his pubic curls. It wouldn't embarrass him, but it did seem excessive, even for Dean. He'd better focus on the blades – sharp or not-so-sharp – his brother would be wielding on his most delicate areas. 

* * *

Dean sounded happy. Relaxed and unconcerned despite the white hair, he laughed at Sam's joke. Sam's eyes stung because he wished there'd be more moments like this but knew that wouldn't happen, not with the kind of life they had. It made him treasure such rare events even more.

When Dean held out the disposable razor to him, Sam shook his head. "No way. That thing will scrape your skin off, not only the hair. You're used to short hair down here and stubble upstairs, but believe me – or my chin rather – that you want a proper razor for baby smooth. And I'm saying this with my own interest in mind, too: you wouldn't want to be touched or licked if you were sore. So we'll use my razor and my shaving cream, but I still think we should postpone it."

He gave his brother a sharp look. "Unless you can get hard again now, that is. I won't be able to get it up for a while. If you can, that's fine with me, but I can't shave you when you're soft unless you like blood play." He shuddered. "Sorry if that thought puts me off, but we see enough cuts in our day job. So what do you – or better, what does not-so-little Dean say?"

* * *

Sam offering his razor and shaving cream – the expensive kind – was surprise enough. The rest was... weird. Either Sam had had some experience with this in the past, or known someone who had, or had looked it up online. They sure as hell hadn't learned that sort of grooming habit from their dad. Dean could imagine the affronted glare John would have produced at the mere hint of shaving one's balls or what have you. 

He blurted, "I have to be hard? Why's that? It's not like I have hair on my dick." Around the base, definitely, but he wasn't a freak. "Little Dean went into hiding at the mention of blood, I'm afraid. He might be convinced to, uh, poke his head out if you were to offer nicer, warmer... amenities," he leered. "Just to make him pay attention, y'know. No-can-do, with another money shot." Getting hard was probably a good preventative. Just the thought of trying to wring another drop from the Mojave Desert, or rather his testicles and make that Death Valley, hurt. 

* * *

"Dean..." Sam blushed beet red. Of course Dean would want to know how Sam knew about shaving a man's private parts. Or no, he'd asked why he needed to be hard for it to work, but that was a question Sam wasn't so keen on answering either.

"Look," he cringed, "it isn't that I've tried it, but one of my classmates liked to elaborate in more detail than anyone would want to know that it cannot be done until one's hard. Maybe I should have listened more back then, but it was just... gross. So," Sam hoped he could draw his brother's attention away from the topic, "as I suggested, let's just leave it for later, can we, please?"

* * *

"Sure, Sam. It's not like anyone but you're gonna see me with my pants off. I hope!" Dean's flustered, red-faced little brother was just so... cute. And Dean was getting deja vu about that word. "Figured it must have been a drinking game, and a buddy of yours spilled TMI after a few shots. 'Course, some people don't even need to be drunk to lose their filter." 

At age twenty or so and among relative strangers, Sam would have been even more mortified than when Dean said things like that. The shocked-and-appalled version of bitchface would have been quite something to see. Checking his hair again in the mirror and making a minor adjustment, Dean pressed his lips into a thin line to keep his laughter at bay. "Time to dress up in the monkey suits. Hope you have another shirt, or a needle and thread – I seem to recall a few buttons hitting the wall in the name of..." 

Love? Sex? Getting naked so they could lick and suck and paw at each other and rut like wild animals? Oh yeah, they'd done all that, and then some – Sam was the best Dean had ever had, and he loved his brother so fiercely it almost brought him to tears, and to his knees. They'd both been in that position recently, among others. Dean could think of a few others he'd like to try, if Sam was willing. Classic doggy style – he'd have better leverage. Sam riding him, both of them leaning back so his dick rubbed hard against the sweet spot inside. He'd be able to see Sam spray his release like a geyser... 

"...oops." Dean looked down, where his yawning little slit looked back up at him, then at Sam. "We already established now's not the time. Sorry!" He wasn't the least bit sorry. The boner now standing out from his groin had sprung up in the last few seconds. He had no intention of using it, though. 

* * *

"Yeah, well, I don't want to think too closely about that guy," Sam admitted. "My time in Stanford had moments where I wished I were far away, and the shaving private parts discussion was one of the topics I'd rather not have witnessed. I know you did it at several occasions, but I remember well from when I had a broken hand that shaving oneself is a quite different thing than having someone else doing it and I really don't want to risk even the tiniest nick on your dick skin." He leered. "Because then I wouldn't be allowed to suck you again, and that's part of my plan for later."

Sam tore his thoughts away from the tempting image of his naked brother. "So, monkey suits. I think I have a second shirt, although I wish we could go casual for the next round of interviews. At least that's the plan for now, is it? Find out if anyone else with white hair has impregnated someone. Or," he frowned, "do you think we have evidence enough for pregnancies and should skip this step so we could proceed straight to witches and the likes?"

He thought for a moment. "Tell you what. If we leave now, we have plenty of time to check out that famous Hot Hole. In jeans and tee shirts, okay, jackets, too, but no suits or ties. What do you say?"

* * *

Hearing that Sam wanted to blow him again, Dean hissed with a combination of pleasure and pain. Sam's dirty mouth had him throbbing, but his dick skin, as Sam put it, and the rest of the structures under it, had had enough for now. "Since I wouldn't want to interfere with your plans, I'll drop the subject. Little Dean thanks you," he snorted. "He needs a short break while he gets stuffed into our Casual Fridays not-so-monkey-suits. Even if it's not Friday." 

Ha! Sam exceeded Dean's earlier goal by saying "Hot Hole" again, without even being prompted. "Sulfur ranks low on my bucket list... Let's skip it unless we find we absolutely have to investigate it. That AND witches in one day? Too much stench for me... No thanks." 

He followed his brother's mouth-watering ass into the room itself, where they both rummaged through their duffels in search of clean – or clean enough – clothes. The ever-present laundry duty was calling his name. By the time he found something presentable to wear, he'd gone soft, which was actually a relief. Back in his teenaged days of supreme horniness and sluttiness, Dean had considered anything older than thirty to be ancient, decrepit, and impotent. Now look at him. 

As they'd been trained, both men were dressed and ready in short order. Dean tucked his .45 down the back of his jeans, grabbed his keys and nodded to Sam. "Any ideas about where we start looking for witches? We should check downtown for a New Age store or anything 'alternative'." 

* * *

"Never thought you'd prefer witches over a Hot Hole," Sam smirked. "I hear you, though. Sulfur. Yuck. Then again, witches are yuck, too, but we have to get it over with sooner or later, so why not sooner. And who knows, if we find something witchy, we may not have to check out the Hot Hole at all."

While speaking, Sam had dressed, too. When Dean reached for his keys, Sam thought for a moment, then suggested, "No ideas where to start, but let's ask the 'Net. These days, there's something New Agey everywhere. If Elko doesn't have some crystal shop or the likes, I'd be seriously surprised – and even more suspicious. So let's see..."

He opened his laptop and waited until he'd established a WiFi connection, then tapped a few keywords into the search engine. "Hm, okay, here we go. So, there's a place named Freckled Ass Designs." Sam snorted. "It says here, Psychics and Astrologers, Gift Shops. Shall we start there?"

* * *

Dean chortled. "Seriously? That's some name! I'll leave it to you to tell me if you've seen any of those recently." Now that they had something of a lead, he bounced on his feet, more than ready to get going. "Whether it's the nasty, bodily fluid-throwing kind or just the friendly dabbling kind, there's got to be someone we can get some sort intel from at a crystal shop." He motioned for Sam to pack up his laptop. Musing to himself, Dean had to admit he was deeply relaxed, no surprise. That was not his usual state of being. 

Just about to leave, he caught a pained expression on Sam's face and suddenly remembered something. "Dude, I forgot to, uh... The ointment...? You want to be able to sit down, right? Shall I apply another coat of ointment?" The fact was, Sam had already done so, but he moved stiffly – same when he stood up again. While Sam was fully dressed including the suit jacket, it wouldn't take much time for him to pull his pants down and bend over. 

* * *

"Shoot," Sam suppressed a curse. With the excitement of resuming the hunt, he'd been successfully distracted from his sore ass but now that Dean mentioned it he had to admit that his brother was right. "Okay," He grimaced, "you bent over for me when we were doing your hair, so it's only fair that I bend over for you now."

He undid his belt and frowned before continuing. "Bed or bathroom?"

* * *

"Whatever's more comfortable for you," Dean replied. One of them ought to be comfortable, at least. Feeling a familiar twitch, Dean sent a stern message to his dick to stay the hell down if it knew what was good for it. To distract himself, he ducked into the bathroom and found the goop, sitting on one side of the sink where he'd tossed it earlier. Dean glanced around, anywhere but his brother's naked buttocks appearing as he lowered his pants. 

* * *

"I'll bend over the sink, then," Sam decided. Getting on the bed would just give his sore dick ideas, and the sink had a good height. He walked over to the bathroom and dropped his pants around his ankles, but that way he couldn't spread his legs, so he took them off.

"Ready when you are. Let's get this over with, and then we've got an even less appealing task to deal with, witches."

* * *

"Who said this isn't appealing?" Dean sidled over behind Sam where he had bent – tensely – over the bathroom sink. Then he looked more closely. "But – no pun intended – it also looks painful. I'd lick it better but that medicated goop will work better than spit." Other than the color and smell was wrong, the act of popping the lid on the tube and squeezing out a glob onto his finger, coating them, touching the hot, puckered skin of Sam's hole was just like the first part of prepping him. Again he silently told his body to shut up. 

To Sam, he ordered, "You tell me if I should stop." He did the job lightly, quickly, dabbing first then spreading the gel to cover all of Sam's rim and inside its border. Without a word, barely a breath, Dean drew away and wiped his fingers on a tissue. "Good to go?" he asked.

* * *

Although he was far from happy with the prospect of being an impossibly pregnant male, Sam couldn't resist. "If you find this appealing you'll be welcome to diaper duty in the not too far away future," he quipped, then raised a hand in a pacifying gesture. "I know that's not what you meant and I appreciate the compliment. And I also appreciate you doing this for me. I mean, smearing baby cream on my butt, I bet you never thought that would be a part of our lives – I didn't. But," his voice softened, "I didn't expect you to return my feelings either."

* * *

The thought of a baby, an actual baby, still freaked Dean out. It would be another human being, tiny, totally helpless and dependent on them. How could they ever manage that, hunting? When their mom had died and John took to the road, he hadn't been a hunter, yet. Obsessed, out of his mind with grief, sure, but it took a couple of years, if Dean's fuzzy memory served, before he'd heard the word 'hunt' or its derivatives. Given the choice between that or feelings, Dean chose the latter. 

"Yeah well..." He cleared his throat. "Same here. I thought you'd be totally disgusted with your big brother... wanting you that way. You used to see me as your role model when you were a kid. Your hero, even. What am I saying? You'd know better than me, about that. I... I couldn't stand the idea of destroying what little of that might have remained. Or of making you hate me."

Dean's voice had grown hoarse and he cleared his throat again. About then, he realized he'd been spreading more and more – way too much – of the white goo on Sam's sore hole. "Oh, sorry, man!" he exclaimed. "Now I'll have to wipe some of that off. I don't s'pose you got some of those baby butt wipes, too?" 

* * *

"Baby butt wipes? Leave it on, kinda like body armor." Sam snorted. The concept of a protective layer between his sore skin and his clothing sounded tempting but he'd probably walk like a toddler who'd wet his pants. "No, come to think about it, maybe better not leave it on. Just use toilet paper. What we have here is pretty much sandpaper, but I'll live."

He braced himself against the sink again and spoke softly while waiting for Dean to wipe him clean, "You'd have never made me hate you, and you'll always be my hero, Dean, just as you've always been, my entire life. Maybe we weren't ready to admit our love, but now we are, so that won't change, and neither will my admiration for you."

Sam could almost hear a comment on chick flick moments forming on his brother's tongue, but he was satisfied that Dean had let him finish speaking.

* * *

"Cheap motels and Brand X sandpaper TP go together like burgers and fries, except that they suck," Dean mock-grumbled, "so make that road kill and warm beer." One thing about a diet heavy in red meat – he only had to deal with the 'sandpaper' once a day. Meanwhile, he paid better attention to wiping the excess goop from Sam's skin, taking care to leave only a thin layer where it was most needed. He considered smacking Sam's butt, when he finished. Instead, he just patted one cheek and said, "Pull your pants up, Sam." 

There wasn't much else he could say about Sam's ongoing saga of their love. "Right back at yah," Dean replied, while his face turned pink. At age 17, he'd declared himself a hero to the populace of an indifferent small town student body just like the young punk wanna-be hunter he'd been. It had been one of the more humiliating experiences of his life, how they'd all looked down their noses at Dean, confirming he was low-life scum. Ever since then, he'd shied away from the word. Today was the first time he'd used it again, and only in terms of little-kid hero worship. Not all of his scars were visible.

Finally, they were sitting in the car, with Dean driving toward the older downtown stores. The purple swirls on the awnings couldn't be missed. Dean circled the block, parked, and in minutes he and Sam walked into a patchouli cloud that made him sneeze like a baby in bright sunlight. They weren't exactly card-carrying members of the local coven. Grateful the incense would cover the ammonia smell lingering in his hair, Dean looked around, pretending to be mesmerized by the multicolored crystals in the showcase facing the street. 

After a good fifteen minutes, a small, slight girl with obviously-dyed black hair stopped dusting and asked if he needed any help. "Sure, sweetheart," Dean drawled purely out of habit. He was going to have to rethink these random endearments. "Any of these crystals come from the Hot Hole?" he smirked. 


	5. Chapter 5

"Are any of these crystals come from the Hot Hole?" Dean smirked. The clerk shot him a "drop dead, you asshole" look, but pointed out a few. 

"Did you collect them yourself?" 

* * *

Sam made a show of glaring at Dean before smiling at the girl. "Please excuse my brother," he said in a slightly stoned-sounding voice. "He's a non-believer on his way to understanding." Dean glared back, but Sam could see the grin behind the facade.

"What he was asking was for real, though. See, we came here because the Hot Hole is supposed to be a powerful place and if the crystals found their way to you from that place, they could have enough positive energy living in them to help me."

He turned his face into a mournful expression and the girl almost started cooing. "Oh, I see. There's a hole in your aura that surrounds the heart chakra. Poor you, of course you need help." She pursed her lips. "Maybe a healing stone... Have you already meditated at one of the springs?"

* * *

After returning the glare Sam threw at him, both of them totally faking it, Dean stood to the side and let his brother work. It had always amused him to no end how from the time he could talk, Sam had played to to these touchy-feelie, warm-and-fuzzy types. The girl immediately assumed Sam was seeking a cure for a broken heart. That was beyond ironic. Dean bit his lip to keep from asking her which of the crystals she thought might ease the soreness of Sam's 'hot hole' or would be good for the health of a pregnant man. 

"We haven't been there yet," he jumped in, when the clerk, now leaning over the counter with love-struck eyes and practically ready to lick Sam, suggested they meditate near the public attraction. "Do you recommend it, then? Any classes or groups we could join in with?" That would give them more possible witnesses – and witches – as well as having the advantage of them not looking utterly ridiculous on their own. 

* * *

The girl turned her attention from Sam to Dean when he spoke. "You're hiding your true self," she said. "You're here with your brother because you care for him, but what you need to understand is that you're here also because your inner self wants you to be. Because it knows that you can find something here that will bring you to the next level of awareness."

She reached over the counter and put her hand on Sam's chest, who flinched but forced himself to relax. "Meditation will do both of you good. It will calm the flow of your chi. I'll be happy to help you and take you out to the Hot Hole as your spiritual guide." She let her hand trail over Sam's chest.

Swallowing, Sam caught her hand in his. He hadn't missed Dean bunching up, bristling when she touched _his_ Sam. "Do you mean just the three of us?" he asked. "I'd have thought we could release more power if there was a larger group. I mean, I'm sure there are others who need to heal and if we all went together..."

"...our souls would resonate and focus the energy!" The girl looked at Sam with wide eyes. "Of course!" she blushed. "I'm, uh, when I suggested it I thought the three of us could share the cosmic... energy." She blushed more. "But you're right. Let me give a few friends a call and we could all meet after sundown to celebrate life together and replenish your chakra with love."

It was beginning to sound more like a hippie orgy than a witches' coven, Sam thought, but so far they had no other clues. "I'd like that very much," he said. There were a few hours left until sunset and he vowed that by the time they met their 'spiritual leader' and her friends, he and Dean would be even more sexually depleted than they were now already. 

"Swell!" The girl beamed. "Shall I pick you up? The terrain is a little difficult after dark, so I could be your physical guide as well." She giggled at what she probably perceived as a joke. Sam didn't think it was funny. Nor did he want to give away the location of their motel or end up stuck with a group of witches in the wilderness, without their own transportation, and at night.

"Why don't we return here half an hour before dusk?" he suggested. "Then we can follow you or give you a ride. Our car carries good karma," he added. Dean would never let him live this down.

"A car cannot bear karma," the girl informed him, "as it isn't a living, breathing being, but I get what you mean. It's your safe place and you're so deeply hurt that you want to keep close to it. I understand." She smiled encouragingly. "So I'll see you tonight, then. Oh, and I'm Deva Priya. Not my given name of course but the one under which I was reborn. And you are...?"

Remembering only too well the pissy look his brother had thrown him when Sam had introduced them under the names of Status Quo band members, Sam decided to leave the field to Dean at this point. 

* * *

Once again, he and Sam found themselves trapped in the opening sequence of some really bad porn. Dean gritted his teeth when the girl spun out what had to have been rotely memorized gobbledy-gook about chi and chakra. Then she offered her services as their 'guide'. It didn't take a 160 IQ to figure out where she was headed: three-way at the Hot Hole. 

In some past life – in fact, till recently – Dean would have agreed within minutes and then found a way to ditch his brother. Now, watching the little twit outright proposition Sam, touching him – what was it with chicks always wanting to feel Sam's chest? – Dean felt like he was about to blow a fuse. 'Mine!' he wanted to yell. Sam must have noticed: his posture was anything but relaxed and he unsubtlely removed the smooth little silver-beringed hand from where it had been sliding up over his right pectoral. If she'd reached a nipple... Dean nearly growled. She hadn't, but it would have been as offensive as if she'd grabbed Sam's crotch. 

Dean didn't have to resort to growling, though. He decided to save the caveman routine for more private moments. The conversation going on over his head about a larger group meeting later snagged his notice when it turned to Baby: Sam claimed she embodied good karma, but 'Deva Priya' disagreed. Of course she did. Nobody had better say anything against her; Dean was about to open his mouth to protest that their 40-year-old ton of American steel was too a living thing when Sam asked him to make their introductions. 

Great. Besides Hare Krishna and Kama Sutra – names sure to get them told off and for certain, made as fakes again, he cast about for something – anything – that might work. John had insisted on Latin and ancient Greek, something Dean had never had a good grasp on, but they had never progressed to any Eastern languages. Where was Bobby's multi-lingual old ass when they needed him? "Oh, okay. I'm Sunshine and this is Moonbeam," he announced, laying on a smarmy layer of snake oil. "Just kidding. Our parents were about as far from hippies as it gets." His mind spun like a hamster on speed. Deepak Chapra... hookah... Shiva... M. Night Shalama-whatever... Dalai Lama? He'd heard some names over the years but be damned if he could make any of them surface. Dean looked down at the floor as if embarrassed and mumbled, "Um, Raj Ganesh and Shiva Ram." He waved one hand first at himself, then in Sam's direction. 

* * *

"Oh!" Deva Priya slapped her palm over her open mouth. "No wonder you're hurting," she said to Sam, "the name of the destroyer is a heavy burden. Your karma must be painful for your yogi to bestow that name on you. I'm so happy you found your way here so I can help you ease the pain." She smiled and caressed Sam's hand with her thumb.

"Err, yes," Sam forced himself to smile. He considered himself a decent enough actor, but he was reaching his limit here: the role of an Indian disciple was too out there, even for him. A quick look at Dean suggested that his brother was close to spontaneous combustion.

"Deva – can I call you Deva? – Raj and I had better prepare for tonight. We will withdraw to meditate and cleanse ourselves and we'll return here shortly before dusk sets in, as promised. I am so, _so_ grateful to the powers that they led me to your doorstep and I can't wait for tonight."

He let go of her hand as he stepped back until he reached a safe distance from her. Just when he and Dean were about to leave the shop, the girl shouted, "No, wait!" She rummaged around in a box or drawer under the counter and pulled out two thin necklaces. "Let me at least offer you some protection from your darkness now already," she announced and frowned as she concentrated on picking out beads from a bowl next to the cash register and arranged them on the leather strings. 

If there was any system to what she did, Sam couldn't understand it, not in this lifetime, but eventually, she declared her work done and handed the necklaces to him. "One for you and one for Raj," she said. "Your ajna will tell you which is yours and which is his." She smiled. 

"I'm feeling much safer already," Sam smiled back. "Thank you so much for everything, Deva, but we'd better get going now." Dean was already halfway through the door and Sam followed before the girl could change her mind about letting them leave.

"Let's hope we can make it out of sight before I experience the first real hysteria in my life," Sam pressed out at Dean. He could barely walk straight with the laughter threatening to overwhelm him. "Have you ever heard such bull before?"

* * *

Thinking of how he'd both caused and eased Sam's pain earlier, Dean squinted at the girl who was now stringing some bits of crystal on thin leather cord and wondered if she'd discerned something in Sam's movement. But no, she rattled off more indecipherable platitudes. He inched toward the door. Apparently Sam had the same idea. Taking the 'protection', he backed away across the floor and together they escaped.

Once outside, they headed toward Baby. "You alright there, Shiva?" Dean snorted. "Have you ever heard so much crap in less than 10 minutes? Maybe the time Dad made us go to church camp that one summer." By now, he'd accepted that most people had some sort of belief system. The spells he and Sam worked to summon angels and demons or cast them out probably sounded like so much drivel to other people, but for one small exception: they worked.

"We have plans for tonight, I guess... We should keep looking or interview more vics in the meantime." When he looked over, Sam was twirling one of the pinkish crystals on its string. "Hey, toss those necklaces in the glove box, no way I'm going to be caught dead wearing that till later. I dunno if this chick was the real deal – I think she's a dabbler."

* * *

Sam had no idea how Dean managed to remain composed. Once they were out of sight of the shop, he doubled over giggling until tears streamed down his face. Just as he thought it was over, Dean called him 'Shiva' and it started anew.

"Dude," he wheezed a few minutes later, "you ever mention that name again and you'll be the one to rinse my panties after I pee myself. Shit, man, was that chick for real? What if the friends we're supposed to meet later are like that, too? Seriously, we'd better have an idiot-proof backup plan."

They got into the Impala and Sam reached over to the dashboard to give it a pat. "Sorry about the karma thing earlier. Then again, Baby got us out of so many tight spots that if there's such a thing as karma, she's on its good side."

He leaned back and considered their options. "So what do you think, more interviews? Or should we rest and make sure there's nothing left in our balls tonight but a vacuum, just in case?"

* * *

Suddenly the daylight seemed several shades too bright. Seeing Sam laugh had been a turn-on for Dean since his kid brother had discovered what his dick was for, something about the release of it, of walls and inhibitions lowered. And then there were those damned dimples, dug deep into Sam's stretched cheeks. Shadows of mirth, of happiness even. Usually it was Dean who flirted with anything in a skirt on the job, but when Sam did it, he always led with those dimples, so there was that. 

Then, the mere suggestion of Sam in panties sent a stampede straight south toward the cliff of Dean's groin. Not because he saw his brother as feminine, but wrapping that impressive package in silky, lacy, sheer... So many colors and textures to choose from. It would almost be sexier to see it half-concealed in straining, damp lingerie than naked. Sam was still giggling like a loon, pausing to snort and press a few words out.

Hissing in a breath, Dean leaned heavily against Baby's front fender and adjusted himself. All thoughts of 'case' and 'interview' and 'work' fled his mind, other than that they'd all have to wait. "I doubt a town this size has a Victoria's Secret. But if you're offering, Sammy... I won't say no." He choked out, attempting to dig the keys out of his pocket around his rapidly swelling dick. Sam couldn't possibly know about the false bottom of his duffel, where Dean stashed his favorite porn, some spare cash, a flask of Johnny Walker Blue and those panties, the same ones he'd been carrying around since he was 19. Looking at Sam dead on, he stated, "We'd better get back to the motel before we get arrested. I'm gonna make it my _job_ to put a vacuum seal on your balls, inside and out. We'll see just how much, or how many times, they can... produce." 

Satisfied at the shocked – and horny – mix of slack jaw and wildly dilating pupils he got in response, Dean unlocked the passenger side, then went around to the driver's side. By then he was starting to walk funny, himself. The drive to their room took far too long, despite that he might have driven just a little too fast. Baby's good karma was with them. 

* * *

"Wha-what?" Whatever thought had led to Dean mentioning Victoria's Secret immediately ruined Sam's barely recovered control. Sam tried to remember what exactly he'd said and came up with 'panties,' so maybe Dean was thinking lace rather than men's briefs, but the thought of his 6' 4" 190+ lbs in lace was so ridiculous that, again, Sam almost choked laughing. And then...

"Even if there was a Victoria's Secret," he pressed out, "do you think they'd have size 12 stilettos?"

* * *

"Huh? Don't need no stilettos, they'd only get in the way. You already tower over me." Where Sam had jumped from women's underwear to high heels, Dean hadn't the faintest. But maybe his brother's fantasies were more intricate than his. That would follow. For Dean, different variations of the act itself consumed his inner life: touching specific body parts with hands or mouth, undressing, the first slide in, shooting again and again and until recently, the soft curves, wet warmth and clutching walls of women. Sam probably needed the long game, a set-up, a sequence of scripted dialogue. Since he'd brought up stilettos, Dean was willing to bet there was a naughty librarian or teacher lurking in the mix. 

He didn't ask. If Sam wanted to tell him, he would. Dean shut off the ignition and reached over to cup Sam's bulge. "You said panties. Even though I saw you dress so I know you're not wearing anything like that, it's where my mind jumped. 'm not interested in you dressing like a woman – unless you want to. Just wanted to see this," he lightly squeezed the twitching flesh under Sam's zipper, "wrapped up in lace or silk, straining to burst free. If that's not your thing, that's cool." 

Here they were again, sitting in Baby's cab all riled up and in his case, hard. More people were starting to check in now, families and retirees. Dean hoped none of them shared their walls or they were about to get an earful, as well as an eyeful. "Guess it's time to play hide the hard-on once again, not in the fun way yet," he mock-grumbled, letting go of Sam's crotch and shrugging out of his jacket suit. He'd also have to conceal the .45 while he bolted to the door, so he tucked it into the front of his belt – no mean feat – for the moment. "I'll go first," Dean offered. 

* * *

"Uh, I never thought about lace before," Sam admitted, "at least not for myself. I'm not sure if it's my thing but if you'd like to try it – or have me try it, why not. It's just, well, sometimes Jess dressed in, um, suspenders and stockings and I guess she was a bit disappointed by my reaction. Make that non-reaction. She blamed herself for it afterward and said that suspenders and stockings couldn't really be appreciated without high heels, but she'd only wear sensible shoes."

Sam blushed. "To be honest, I was kinda relieved that she's... was," a shadow fell over his face, "such a health nut. I don't think the shoes would have made that much of a difference for me, and that'd have hurt her." A part of him still felt guilty for her death and made such memories painful because he wished he'd have only given her happy times while she'd lived.

Another thought hit. Ever since Jess had died, Sam had resigned himself from the idea of having a family. More guilt rose when he remembered how they'd discussed and planned their future, talked about a little Sammy and a little Jessica.

The Dean reached over and squeezed Sam's groin and every thought of the past was expunged from his brain. His dick struggled valiantly but – how many times had he cum that day? – was having understandable difficulties keeping up. Still, by the time they were inside their room and undressed, Sam was sure he'd recover his libido. Strange, supernatural things happened in this town, so why not to his manhood...

_That_ thought brought his arousal to a grinding, screeching halt. 

"Dean, wait," Sam panted, suddenly feeling cold. "All this... being oversexed... can we stop and think for a moment? Please, I need to know if this is us or... something else."

* * *

As Dean was about to make a run for the door of their room, Sam wondered aloud if something supernatural was bolstering their libidos. As much as Dean hated to admit it, and he really cursed the timing, Sam had a point. He hadn't been able to get off so many times in a day since he'd been legal, and he hadn't had the desire to, either, not till he was sore from friction and to the point of dry-cumming. Some of it was for lack of opportunity; some of what he was experiencing now was because of Sam and the intense love, lust, and all that caring-and-sharing he felt about his brother.

But. Yes, there was always a 'but', a fly in the ointment. Dean didn't want to know about whatever Jess and Sam had done in bed. The memories pained Sam – his forehead wrinkled up and the corners of his mouth turned down – which in turn pained Dean. The part about the monster affecting them cut close to the truth. Twice now, he'd personally experienced something odd in this town: first, the cobweb thing, as if something was throwing a fragile net over him. Then the non-consensual-themed nightmare, from which he'd woken with white hair. And Sam, too... his pheromones had been stronger than ever since they'd been in Elko, his nipples were off-the-charts sensitive and then there was that whole pregnancy thing. 

"Aw, man, you killed my boner," Dean moaned. "Or rather, whatever we're chasing did. So much for being oversexed." Since there was nothing that needed concealment any longer, he got out of the car and ambled to their door in no particular hurry. The promises he'd made on Sam's body would have to wait. 

Then he opened the door. The maid had been by; the beds had been remade and the salt lines were gone. Even with fresh sheets and towels, the air was still laden with his and Sam's leftover hormones. A wave of "l'eau de sex" hit him like a brick wall. Good lord almighty. Dean wasn't so sure he wanted to go in there. Steeling himself, he crossed the threshold and opened the window as far as it would go. 

One of these days, Dean decided, he was going to buy his own laptop. Sam did the bulk of the online research, not trusting Dean not to infect his machine with viruses from porn sites. At the rate they were going, it would take them both to be ready for tonight, just in case some real witches or worse turned up. Their anti-possession tattoos wouldn't help with that, nor would the stringed rocks in the car. Stronger magic would be needed, likely something requiring human blood. Speaking of, where was his brother? "Sammy?" he called.

* * *

"Yeah, coming," Sam replied without thinking when Dean called him. "Didn't mean _that,_ sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to kill your boner either, it's just... not normal. I mean, we're both healthy guys and," he pulled his face into a cheesy grin, "in lurve and all, but no man can hold up to the amount of sex we've had today alone."

"Dean," Sam approached until he stood behind his brother at the window. "I'll always want you, but I want that because it's you, not, what I'm beginning to fear, some supernatural sex drive." He leaned down to inhale Dean's scent and sighed. "I can't wait to get this hunt over with, so we'd better get cracking."

He reluctantly stepped away, sat at the table and opened his laptop without looking at the screen. "You know, it just occurred to me... My impression of Swami girl back at the crystal shop... Do you think her, um, offer may have been due to more than just the concept of free love? If she and her friends regularly spend time at the Hot Hole and that's where whatever we're after came from, she may be oversexed because of the same thing that makes me want to ravish you all the time, and if that's the case..."

Sam looked Dean in the face. "We're gonna need help tonight. Some kind of spell or potion to resist sexual temptation, anti-Viagra. Can you think of anything?"

* * *

"Really, Sam? You think I'm oversexed?" Dean started to pace back and forth across the room. It didn't feel right, about as un-right as Sam saying something was _wrong_ with him. "It can't be just my awesome virility, or that we finally..." he gulped, "found each other? It has to be some fucked-up witchy business that I want you whenever I look at you? I... I'm not an idiot. People don't... What is it they say? 'The honeymoon's over'. I know that'll happen, some day. Yeah, there's weird shit going on here, in this town, can't deny that. But this," sticking out his hand, holding it planked perpendicular to the floor, Dean moved it back and forward between them, "unless we're something other than men, what's between us is very... human."

Sam just blinked. That was his way of saying he he didn't agree 100 percent. Rather than argue, Dean went on with what they could agree upon. "We will definitely need some powerful protection tonight, aside from anti-Viagra and something like full-body-sized, extra-durable, see-through, anti-supernatural condoms. We'll be out-numbered, and who knows what will turn up. There's hex bags, we can keep them on us. Holy water. Silver knives. Bobby might know of something better in the lore." 

Pulling out his phone, Dean punched in Bobby's speed dial number. Voice mail. He tried his other number and his other _other_ number. Same result. In a way, Dean was relieved. Asking their foster father about anti-sex measures, ew. But that didn't get them any closer to an answer. "He'll call back," he stated with more confidence than he felt. 

Dean finally realized what was bothering him; he hadn't salted the door and window. But they had laid down salt lines before, and something, the monster, had still managed to mess with him. Salt worked against lots of things. Not hellhounds, not low-level witches since they were just people, not angels. Wouldn't that be about right, if one of those halo-wearing dickwads was behind this?

* * *

"I love you," Sam stated simply, "and that includes me desiring you, which I've always done. It was the only reason I could get it up five times, back when Jess suggested we see how many times we could do it in a day. Because I was thinking of you, not her." He blushed. "But what's going on today is different. I'm not exactly impotent but how many times have we come today? Dean I want to have sex with you, again and again, but I want it to be us. _Only_ us. Not in any way influenced by anything artificial or supernatural. However, the only way to prove whether what's going on here is natural or not would be to leave, find a motel room far away, and," he grinned, "fornicate. Which I promise to you is on my agenda, but first we'd better deal with the monster of the week."

Rifling through his bag, Sam dug for anything that could help against witches. Like Dean had said, they'd wear hex bags, holy water, silver, and their tattoos would protect them from being possessed. None of that would help against sexual assault, though. "Unless we find a way to forge silver underpants, we'd better receive a call from Bobby soon," he said.

Dean didn't reply and when Sam turned to look at him, his brother was laying out salt lines on the window sills and before the door. When Dean's cell, which he'd thrown on the bed, rang, Sam was the closest to pick up. 

"Hi, Bobby, good of you to call us back. We need your help."

"Ain't I surprised by that," a gruff voice answered from the other end of the line. "So what have you two idjits dug yourselves into this time?"

While Sam explained their problem – without mentioning his and Dean's recent sexual activities – Dean finished setting up the salt lines and joined him on the bed, so he could listen in.

"Well, well," Bobby said when Sam had concluded, "I've gotta hand it to you boys, it's never boring with you. Lemme see what I can find out. I'll call ya back."

Sam put the phone down. "So, while we wait, any ideas other than a silver PA?"

* * *

It could've been worse. Sam managed to fill Bobby in on all the necessary details without having to divulge the most important – to Dean, anyway – that they were together now. Having nothing to add that wouldn't give Bobby more information than he ever wanted, Dean shook his head and Sam hung up. 

"I ain't wearing no chastity belt," Dean snorted at Sam's highly impossible notion of silver underwear. "But...'PA'? Like 'personal assistant'?" he questioned, thinking of their very short stint investigating a ghost on a Hollywood movie lot. He'd heard of witches having familiars, but those were animals or, if you believed the lore, animals that could transform into people or vice versa. He and Sam weren't witches, however. He had no interest in such powers. They only used spells sparingly, when there was no other choice. 

* * *

"Um, er..." If Sam had blushed from speaking about his 'marathon sex' day with Jess earlier, admitting how he'd come to know what he now had to explain would probably lead to spontaneous combustion. Maybe he'd better go fetch the fire extinguisher from the hall... He really should have thought before opening his mouth. Sam mentally cursed himself, but Dean's look made it clear that he wanted an answer the more the longer Sam hesitated.

Sam looked down. The earth didn't split open, so he eventually spoke. "It's short for Prince Albert, a Briton who, as the story goes, didn't want a bulge showing up in his dress pants, so he... made sure his, uh, member was always positioned upright..." He gathered his courage. "It's a dick piercing."

* * *

"Oh my god!" Dean burst out before he could stop himself. He wasn't as surprised to hear the thing had a proper name as much as Sam bringing it up – and knowing its history, too, good lord. "I've seen a couple, uh, online, but I figured a piercing was a piercing. Ugh!" He flinched, a delayed reaction, imagining a needle going in _there_. "You're not considering it...?"

Actually, a thick silver ring would look fucking hot curved around the fat round head of Sam's hard cock, but Dean would never suggest it in a million years. 

* * *

Sam watched the expressions roll over Dean's face while he spoke, shock first, then understanding and finally, for the fraction of a second – interest? 

"I wasn't considering it," he said. It was true – at least it had been true until seconds ago. He'd filed away the piece of information a drunk Chad had divulged and hoped to never have to think of it again. In his life back then, that would have worked, but being a hunter he always needed to be prepared for... unconventional... solutions. If silver in his dick would protect him from being sexually assaulted... Maybe it was time to reconsider... But no, even if Sam would come to consider it as a final resort, there was always Bobby. There'd be another way. There _had to_ be another way...

Wait a minute. Was that actually disappointment showing on his brother's face now?

"You..." Sam's voice was hoarse when a wave of arousal swept over him. "Would you like that?"

* * *

While Sam said aloud that he wasn't considering getting such a piercing, his face said otherwise. His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side, as if he were weighing the possibility. They were only a day into being lovers for real; Dean felt the shortness of the time acutely, against the length of Sam's entire life as brothers. He had no right to ask for such a thing. 

Tell that to his dick. Dean shifted on the bed, not wanting Sam to see his reaction and think it was just the effects of monster or whatever-it-was again. "Well... If you were to get a piercing today, it wouldn't be healed yet tonight." Blood flushed Dean's face, and lower. He felt his nostrils flare. How did his lips get so dry? Before he could stop it, his tongue flicked out to lick them. "Yeah," he practically moaned. "I'd like it..."

* * *

"I..." Sam couldn't speak because his mouth was suddenly so full of drool he had to swallow first. "I think I want that." Seeing his brother's flushed face and the way Dean's breathing became shallow, Sam not only wanted a piercing in his dick, he wanted it _now!_ As Dean had pointed out, it would take time to heal, so even if there was a tattoo artist in town he could trust – and more importantly one that _Dean_ would trust – it wouldn't change things for tonight, but Sam itched for his computer to check out tattoo parlors.

He bit his lip. "Meanwhile, we could see if there are sex shops around that carry silver, uh, jewelry, that can be worn without a piercing. We could get a matching set..."

* * *

"Jewelry? Like for our...?" Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Sam..." His voice was hoarse with arousal. There had to be at least a couple of 'adult' establishments here. It was the same state as Vegas, after all. "I don't know if I can stand to let anyone else touch you... but... if you want your dick pierced, for protection or for, uh, decoration, I support you. One hundred percent." Though he knew Sam didn't want sex, maybe was too sore and too drained, Dean reached out, rested a hand far up on Sam's thigh and squeezed. "I'll even volunteer to search online."

* * *

"You... you'd do that for me?" Sam asked. Now that he'd made the decision, he suddenly didn't feel up to taking the steps that would be necessary. He had made a decision to have someone drive a thick needle through his penis! How on earth had he come to this point, that he _wanted_ this? Yet he knew that he wouldn't change his mind. This was not the monster, the witches speaking. It wasn't for protection. It was something he wanted for himself, something nobody other than he and Dean would ever know about.

Sam was shaking when he turned to Dean. "I want that," he confirmed once again. Sam rarely made on-the-spot decisions, but this one he'd made and he wouldn't veer from it. "But it kinda scares me, too. If you'd find out where... and when... and..." He hated it that his voice sounded so needy. "You'd stay with me while they... do... it?"

* * *

Not be there when Sam would be at his most vulnerable? Unthinkable! "Of course I'll stay with you! I'll even hold your hand or whatever. Someone's gotta watch your back when... you know. They couldn't drag me away kicking and screaming," Dean expounded. If he had to, he'd pay a hefty bribe, too. 

Though he was talking big about being the protective older brother, Dean couldn't help admiring Sam's bravery. How or why it had gone from neither of them having even an earring (John would've killed them or yanked it out) to a dick piercing without ever having discussed it once, he wasn't even quite sure. His whole body thrummed in anticipation. Giving Sam's leg another, lighter, squeeze, Dean moved away and opened up Sam's laptop on the table. He plugged the power cord in; the thing had decent battery life, but they never knew when they'd be able to charge it. 

There were nearly a dozen tattoo and piercing joints in town. Dean perused their sites, trying to gain a feel for which seemed most knowledgeable. Mostly, they displayed high-res photos of their skin art. He supposed they probably couldn't include pics of people's junk without it being classed as porn. At last, he found one with a 'menu' of piercings and body modifications, most of which made a PA sound mild. Assurances of the artists' training, sterile technique, and use of medical grade instruments and jewelry set Dean's mind somewhat more at ease. "This one," he decided, turning the screen. "Black Dog Piercing." Even the name was fitting. 

* * *

Sam didn't know why he suddenly wanted this piercing, but he was convinced it had nothing to do with dark forces being at work in Elko. That he knew it was the right thing to do didn't mean that the prospect of having a thick needle stuck in – _through_ – his dick was appealing. However, when Dean said he'd watch Sam's back, Sam burst out laughing loudly.

"You'd hold my hand or _whatever? Whatever_ being my dick? Just don't offer it to the black dog if there really is one," he wheezed. "At least I hope it's the shop owner's pet and not _a_ black dog." He shuddered but still couldn't stop laughing.

* * *

Dean found his brother's sudden fit of giggles cute, and contagious. There were those dimples again, as if god or whoever had already decorated him. Unable to hold in his laughter, Dean started up, too, glad he didn't have anything in his mouth or he'd have choked. "Yeah sure, Sammy... I'll hold your dick if they'll allow it. Just as long as you don't get hard. That might not be such a good idea..." he trailed off, and giggled some more, despite the rest of the unfinished sentence being something to the tune of, "...when they're brandishing a large-gauge needle at your cock." 

When he caught his breath, Dean said, "If they claim to be so clean and sterile there, I'd better not see any dogs in the place, not even a tiny white shih-tzu. If they do, we're leaving." He gulped and blurted out a thought that had just popped into his head. "Not to steal your thunder, but what if... What if I, uh, got something, too. Not in my dick! But, maybe a silver nipple ring?" 

* * *

Sam's laughter was cut off abruptly when Dean suggested he might be interested in getting a nipple piercing. Suddenly, his mouth was full of drool again and he had to swallow twice before he was able to speak. "Now that you've put that idea on the table, how can I _not_ get hard when we're at the place?"

In Sam's opinion, Dean's nipples were sexier than any woman's and he'd had plans to lick and explore them for the rest of their lives. Now, the mental image of Dean squirming and moaning under him while Sam pulled on a tiny silver ring through one of the pink buds with his teeth almost made him swoon.

"Yeah, I," he had to swallow again as he spoke in a hoarse voice, "I think I'd like that."

* * *

"Me, too." Surprised at himself, at how quickly he'd jumped on the bandwagon, Dean wasn't about to back down now. Besides either aesthetic or shock value, he'd heard that getting an erogenous zone pierced made it much more sensitive. Plus, if they used real silver, it would have some worth as protection against paranormal forces. "Just one more way for us to play with ourselves," he snorted. 

Then Sam went and brought up hard-ons again. His own, potentially, at seeing one of Dean's perky nipples waving silver. There had to be some way to logic him into seeing it was ALL just the local weirdness that had him – them – constantly horny. "You know, once we've gone through with it, we – especially you – aren't gonna want to be touched for... I don't even know long." Dean consulted the website. "Four to six weeks for initial healing," he read. "If the piercer is experienced, it shouldn't even hurt that much." He didn't add it would be months, not weeks for him. Dean wasn't a pussy, and he healed fast – he'd deal with it. The look on Sam's face told him it would be well worth any discomfort. 

"Well, then. Now we know." About to suggest they get going before they chickened out, not that they would, Dean was distracted when his phone rang.

* * *

"Yeah, from what Chad said I'd figured it takes about a month until a PA is healed," Sam confirmed. "That doesn't mean I won't want to have sex, though. I'm sure we can figure out ways to have fun," he grinned meaningfully. "But check out how long it'll be for you. I mean your dick won't be out of commission, but if I remember right, a nipple piercing takes longer to heal. I... please tell me you're not doing this only for me?"

Before Dean could answer, a heavy guitar riff sounded from his cell. Sam looked at him. "I hope that's Bobby with good news."

* * *

The number on the display confirmed it was Bobby. Strange that he'd called Dean now, when Sam had been the one to talk to him before. Whatever the reason, Dean, too, prayed it was good news. All in all, that had been some fast research. Sometimes they waited hours or days to hear back. "It's him," he confirmed before pressing the answer button. 

"Hey, Bobby. Didn't take you long. So... What's the word?" 

* * *

"The word is, balls," the voice that was Bobby's replied from the other end of the line. He sounded exasperated. "As in, balls, literally. Most folks ain't interested in nixing life in their pants; they want the biggest penis ever seen, not caring that they'd pass out from lack of blood to the brain if the thing ever went erect, if you get my meaning."

Bobby paused. Sam couldn't think of anything to say. Aware that he was 'proportionate', he didn't feel inclined to mention the fact to their old friend, but he'd never had any issues with feeling dizzy from hardening. Unless Dean blew him, of course, but Sam attributed the effect to sensory overload rather than lack of blood to the brain. Although, maybe...

"So," Bobby spoke again, "the simplest way to be unattractive would be to jump at any chance you may have to catch the clap or any equally unpleasant _adornment_ to your balls like crabs."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. He hadn't forgotten that they'd planned to shave Dean's pubic hairs off – now they really had to because otherwise the witches would be alerted that their pet demon had already 'played' with him. 

"Um, Bobby, we don't think that's a good idea," Sam coughed. "Did you find anything else?"

* * *

Sam would want to know this, too, whatever the news. As Bobby began a short ramble, Dean put it on speaker, leaning closer to Sam. It was still kind of icky hearing about anything related to sex from Bobby. At least he was matter-of-fact about it. Mostly. 

It wasn't especially helpful, either. Some was downright... anti-helpful. "No! No way are we gonna deliberately go get ourselves infected... Or infested! Sam just finished with his, uh... booster shots." Dean clamped his mouth shut rather than suggest to Bobby he'd once had crabs. That shit was embarrassing. His brother didn't like it much, either. Not to mention, they were together and exclusive now, another thing he wasn't going to fill their mentor in on. Dean wondered if Sam had taken the 'huge penis' remarks personally. The guy was huge all over, not just, as Bobby put it, in his pants. If he only had a two-inch dick, that would have been really sad!

"Bobby, we think the monster might be a new kind, half-breed, or hybrid. We got a lead with some New Age weirdos that we're thinking might hang around with witches at a local sulfur spring called the Hot Hole." Naturally, Bobby laughed at that. Dean rolled his eyes in his brother's direction. "I heard of some dudes in Zimbabwe smearing themselves with pig's oil to fend off sex demons. Any shred of hope something like that could work?"

The derisive snort Bobby let out told Dean the expected answer. "Nope. Not that I've ever read about. Holy oil won't work either, unless the thing's an angel." The older man's gravelly voice took on a confidential note. "'S far as I know, this generation of angels don't fornicate. 'Cuz they can't. After that mess with the Nephilim back, oh, five thousand years ago, god neutered the lot." 

Briskly, he got back on track, "Found some real bizarre lore. One concept is that an incubus can be killed by sex with a man. It would follow...succubus... woman, though that would be much more difficult to accomplish, logistically. If your monster is a cross between the two, every time it succeeds, it's gonna get hurt or even killed but also brought back by consuming life force, no matter who it messes with. Why it's targeting men... If you're right and a witch has it on a leash, maybe your witch is kinky, likes to watch, and just happens to prefer men. To get rid of it, well, either keep it from sleeping with anyone, catch it in the act..." 

The disembodied voice trailed off and they heard pages turning, then the slosh of alcohol in a bottle. "Incubi and succubi can be driven out, similar to an exorcism. I've got a thought on where to find the incantations. I'll have to tweak it in case the thing really is a he-she. Meanwhile, take your silver knives and salt. That works on almost everything not human to some degree. We'd better just hope the supernatural don't all get a taste for strange and go breeding all kinds of new things. Jinn, sirens, hell, even powerful ghosts all mixing it up? We'd be fucked."

* * *

Sam listened to Bobby's suggestions, fascinated as always by the older man's abundant knowledge. He wasn't disappointed to hear that, provided the thing they were hunting was some sort of incubus/succubus/whatever chimera, Bobby would provide a means to get rid of it by the end of the day. It didn't solve their other immediate problem, though.

"Bobby, if we don't find a way to stop these witches from having us as the main course of their orgy, we'll be fucked as well. Maybe that's how the thing was created in the first place," Sam mused. He heard Bobby sigh in response.

"Well, dealing with monsters is one thing, but humans..." The older man snorted. "I take it that you've already considered the obvious solution: spending time in opposite corners of the room with skin mags?"

It felt nothing but _wrong_ to hear their surrogate father speaking about sex to them. Sam's face flushed deeply, and this time he knew Dean wouldn't make fun of him for blushing like a virgin; without having to look at Dean, Sam knew that his brother was as embarrassed as he was.

"That, uh, isn't really an option," Sam stammered. Not about to admit what they'd been doing sex-wise recently, he explained, "There seems to be some weird sexual energy around this town, if you get my meaning. Even if we followed your, um, _suggestion,"_ he cringed, "the effect probably wouldn't last long enough."

"Have you thought about chastity?" There was the clink of a glass and Sam could hear Bobby swallowing.

"You mean like, find a sex shop, buy..." Sam couldn't think of a word to describe what Chad had shown him when they'd had that conversation back then. "Uhm, an entrapment device for genitalia, and throw away the key?" He shuddered.

"Could still be better than the alternative," Bobby remarked, "but not what I had in mind originally. Let me ask, you didn't introduce yourself as Feebies to these witches, did you?"

The question made Sam laugh. "Not exactly. They think we're a couple of New Age kids..."

"...who came here to find a cure for Sammy's, er, sorry, _Shiva's_ broken heart," Dean supplied unhelpfully, and Sam glared at him.

To his relief, Bobby ignored the comment. "Then tell them that you've taken a vow of chastity until three days from now in order to focus your energy for a ritual suggested by whatever deity name you can make up, and invite them to share the release of the power when that period is over. Just make sure you've killed the monster by then and are far away."

Before anyone could speak, the blare of another phone came from Bobby's end of the line. "Think about it," Bobby said, "I gotta go be the FBI now and I'll call you back later with the incu-succu-incantations." He hung up.

Sam looked at Dean expectantly. "Do you think this could actually work?" he asked.

* * *

"Uhm... What exactly?" Dean wasn't sure what had just happened, or been suggested. "Tell the witches we've taken a vow, or..." He couldn't swallow the other alternative. Just couldn't do it. Monogamy was weird enough for him. But forced abstinence...? Humiliating! "There's still no damn way in hell I'm wearing a chastity belt!" 

* * *

"I meant telling the witches we've taken a chastity vow, not sticking our dicks in a medieval torture device," Sam confirmed. "Knowing our luck, we'd probably lose the keys to the thing as well, so, no way."

He inhaled and let the air out again. "Question is, can we pull this off with a straight face? Acting serious in front of Deva whats-her-name was quite an effort, but imagine being surrounded by a whole flock of these loons." Sam grimaced. "Maybe a sore dick from a thick needle isn't such a bad idea after all. Then again, if the ritual includes getting naked – and I have a feeling that's gonna be mandatory – a piercing may give _them_ ideas. Thinking of licking your pierced nipple isn't exactly killing my libido either, if you get my meaning."

* * *

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn't have to talk his way out of that, at least. When he got his mind set on something, Sam wasn't the easiest guy to dissuade. "OK, good. No dick-traps. You have no idea how glad Little Dean and I are to hear it. If you're in the market for a little pain to take the edge off laughing at these kooks, the piercing should take care of it," he leered. Why had Sam had to say 'libido' on top of the endorphin-flood-producing remark about his pierced nipple? Or, prospectively so. 

"Or I can make you all butt-hurt. Like... Your butt. Will hurt. We'll skip the ointment. Huh? Or barring that, let's pack up and get the needle part over." If forced to get naked with a coven of dubious power and morality, they'd better have some sort of protection.

Having processed more of the phone call now, he added. "You might have something there, about these witches creating our monster during an orgy. Sex magic. Supposedly the only way to reverse it is fight fire with fire, so to speak: more powerful magic. But that's hear-say. And no, I don't want to ask Bobby."

* * *

"Ouch," Sam winced. "For the record, I'm already butt-hurt, just like I figure you're dick-hurt. So, if we want to play the pain card hoping these nympho witches will accept a rain check – that we'll never let them cash, of course – I'd rather suggest that I need a sore dick and you need a sore butt." He grinned. "I'm offering."

* * *

That wasn't exactly what Dean had been expecting when he hinted they should get in a last session for a while before intentionally hurting some tender bits and then chasing down witches and monsters. He tried to imagine that... that monster between Sam's legs going into where it would need to, in the act his brother proposed. Yeah, his butt would hurt, alright. Sam obviously loved getting dicked but Dean? He just... no. A stammered, "Uh... D-don't you think I'm bow-legged enough?" was the best he could come up with. Scratching the back of his neck, he added, as an afterthought, "I mean, I'm the oldest. I drive. Know what I mean?" 

* * *

Dean's reply was a blast of ice to Sam's libido and emotions. Beside the fact that Dean obviously didn't want Sam making love to him, didn't trust him with his body, what kind of stupid reason for refusing it was Dean being the oldest? However, starting a discussion wouldn't lead anywhere since Dean didn't do chick-flick moments, and this would probably count as one of those in his brother's book.

Sam swallowed down any reply to the topic and decided to follow Dean's usual approach to dealing with such topics by simply ignoring what Dean had said, regardless of how much the statement had hurt him. Another thought hit him. Dean had suggested that Sam wouldn't be able to have sex while his piercing healed. It made a lot of sense now: it wasn't that he couldn't have sex, but he couldn't have _active penetrative_ sex. It was hard to believe, but the suspicion of Dean jumping at Sam's joking idea of a dick piercing so he could avoid bottoming was growing into a distinct possibility the longer Sam thought about it.

The look Dean gave him made it clear that he was waiting for a response. Sam coughed. "Okay. Then I suggest we go with the chastity-for-gathering-energy. I'm sure we can sell that." He was sure he could, any thought of humor was gone now, as was the desire for a piercing. There was, however, a suggestion that could take care of their plans for the afternoon.

"You know, I've been thinking. If we plan to go to the Hot Hole by night with a bunch of witches, shouldn't we go check out the place beforehand? So that if we have to run or whatever, we'd know where to?"

* * *

"Oh. Okay... Sure, let's take a run out there. Scope it out." Suddenly, Dean couldn't wait to escape their room. The temperature had dropped about two hundred degrees in less than a minute. Apparently Sam hadn't liked Dean's opinion on how they should proceed with bedroom activities, but he didn't say anything about it either way. Not out loud. 

"I'll be outside." It was less than twenty steps outside to the safety of Baby's familiar interior, not the miles it felt like. For the first time in years, Dean craved a smoke. John had successfully beat that one bad habit out of him before he was even legal. After a good meal or after sex had been the worst for a long time; he'd never really been a stress smoker. With all his healthy eating and exercising, Sam would kill him if he lit up. Now they had Winchester Number Three to worry about, as well, and he'd never risk its health. 

Oh hell, what was he thinking? As if hunting wasn't risky! Sam hadn't liked it much, though, when Dean had wondered aloud if Sam might get a normal job or go back to school while he gestated. Dammit, Dean cursed himself. Why couldn't the two of them ever be on the same page for more than five minutes? Why couldn't Sam be satisfied with the status quo? He'd – they'd – been so happy to be together, their connection, their sex, their plans, and it boiled down to Dean's one no-fly zone. Of course. 

Whatever. They'd get whatever intel there was, try not to huff too many sulfur fumes, and then go get themselves pierced. Fuck it, he wouldn't even feel too bad if Sam welched... By telling himself this, Dean prepared for the inevitable. It had worked for him since childhood, hadn't it? He fired up the engine and revved it. 'Hurry up, Sam...' Hands at ten and two, he drummed his thumbs against the thin wrapped leather of the steering wheel in time to AC/DC in the tape deck. 

* * *

Dean gave in without a fight, but before he left the room Sam didn't miss his... _bitchface._ Dean stormed rather than walked, which Sam supposed could be described as a little ridiculous-looking, what with his brother's bow-legs, but despite being annoyed Sam still found them sexy. Frowning for a moment, Sam thought back to much earlier times and succeeded in convincing himself that he'd always found his brother's gait a turn-on, since long before they'd come to Elko.

The Impala's engine growled loudly. It wasn't the comforting purr Sam usually associated with their – Dean's – car, and he hurried to pick up his jacket, made sure his gun and knife were on him, and followed Dean out.

When he took his place in the passenger seat, AC/DC drowned out any possible beginning of a conversation. Right. Dean unwilling to talk was what Sam had expected. Regardless how much he hated the blank space between them, Sam could do silence, too. He folded his arms over his chest and looked out of the window while they drove.

* * *

Fuming that Sam had probably decided now was a good time to drop a nice long deuce just for spite, Dean shifted around on the seat that was practically molded to the shape of his ass from all his long years of driving Baby. Did Sam ever think about that when he was driving? How did _his_ butt feel, when he sat on the same cushion with subtle contours worn down over the years by Dean's backside?

It didn't actually take that long; "Dirty Deeds" was only half over when Sam appeared. Not acknowledging Dean, he plunked down on the passenger seat, pulled his legs in and slammed the door shut. Fine, the silent treatment again. Two could play at that game. On every other block, huge billboards pointed the direction to the Hot Hole – some even with bright-colored arrows – so Dean didn't have to consult a map. He made the fifteen-minute drive to the southeast in ten. 

"Unimpressive," he mumbled after parking Baby. "I thought it would be bigger." Suppressing a smirk, he started down the trail toward the spring. That's what the locals called it, a hot spring. It just looked like more of the arid semi-desert typical for hundreds of miles, some scrub brush and thin, dusty grasses. The spring itself, in a depression in the Earth, wasn't as unremarkable; an undefinable green blending to yellowish around the edges and a dark turquoise in the middle suggesting great depths. If he were one of those orgy-loving witches, it might be seen as a place of power, he supposed. 

Their position was upwind, so it didn't stink too bad at the moment. A chain-link fence surrounded the spring. Dean supposed that was wise. There'd always be someone drunk, stupid or curious enough to fall in. According to a sign, the water temperature hovered around 133F, more than hot enough to scald the skin. "Whaddaya think, Sam?" he spoke for the first time in half a hour. "Walk the perimeter? It doesn't look like much out here." 

* * *

"Maybe size doesn't always matter," Sam replied to Dean's remark. "What could matter more is this." He'd started walking and spotted a ring of stones, a fireplace that from the signs of it had been recently used. Red spots on the stones suggested candle wax. When he took a stick and stirred the ashes Sam didn't like what he saw.

"Dean, come here for a sec. These look like chicken bones to me, and somehow I don't think they're remains of a barbecue roast intended for eating."

* * *

"Yep, I see them," Dean replied, looking where Sam had pointed. He was a little miffed at himself for spacing out on the scenery, leaving Sam to make the first discovery of any real evidence. "It's witchy, alright. Means that whatever the thing is, they summoned it." He gestured to the white traces of a large circular ring on the ground surrounding the fireplace ring at a radius of about ten feet, likely salt mixed with chalk dust. There was alkali everywhere, too, but the human touch was unmistakable. 

He walked more slowly around the inside of the circle, examining the ground. "Here... the weeds are all trampled down. Not just by feet but as if something laid down and rolled around." He snorted, glancing over at his brother, who kept his distance. "I'll bet. Do you suppose it was only a human-on-human orgy, or did someone boink whatever they summoned? My bet's with option number two." 

Something a few steps away caught his eye. Dean moved closer to the firepit and squatted down, extending his fingers toward the metal... "Look, Sam. Bet you anything this is silver." He stopped before touching the small discarded, knife flecked with dried blood. "What the hell? Blood sacrifice? I'd say that's some serious hoodoo, but it hasn't killed anything." 

Not all hoodoo was the evil kind. Years ago, Sam had frantically suggested finding a priest from that practice to cure Dean of his heart trauma. The thing loose in Elko was more of a nuisance than a threat. Even Loki's – Gabriel's – idea of a joke tended to be more deadly. "These witches must be as stupid as the monster. That 'Deva' girl makes a good case. Betcha anything someone wanted an incubus on a leash. Not that it would work that way." 

The information in John's journal pointed strongly toward the opposite. Standing, making a show of stretching, Dean grinned and flipped his eyebrows once. "It already got to me. We're gonna have to convince it to try for you." Sam was gonna hate that idea, hunt or no hunt. 

* * *

For a few minutes, things returned to normal, Sam thought: he and Dean were walking around, taking stock of the place, finding evidence for rituals, shaking their heads over the stupidity of the coven that had summoned the thing they were hunting. 

Then Dean grinned and suggested they use Sam as bait. Nothing wrong with that, Sam was used to it and he'd have accepted his role. Except... He felt his earlier rage return.

"Yeah, sure," he spat. "Only, this thing goes after men. _Real_ men. Men like you who manage to knock up someone, even if it's their little brother. Men who'd never consider staying at home with their offspring or, God forbid, let anyone touch their inner sanctum." Sam's voice rose as he grew more and more angry. "Tell me, then, how I am supposed to convince the monster that I'm a man, bend you over Baby's hood?"

* * *

"Wha-?" The initial bitchface Sam produced, which Dean had fully expected, quickly turned into full-blown anger. Not that Dean was afraid of him, but Sam could be a scary SOB when he wanted to be, his voice going rough, deep, and loud and his face all squinched up with rage. The fact that he made valid points put Dean's back up just as fast. 

"What the fuck does that mean: 'not a real man'? No one would even question... Jesus, Sam! Have you seen your junk lately? Well, I have, up close and personal, if I have to remind you!" This wasn't going at all as he'd intended; Dean being on the defensive only escalated things. "I never meant to knock you up. It shouldn't have been possible. I used a condom, for fuck's sake!" He took another breath, delivering something like a reverse ultimatum before Sam could open his mouth again. "Is that it, then? I don't get to touch you again until you... you've... _had me?"_ His voice cracked embarrassingly. "So much for love, and that caring and sharing and respecting the word no and each other's limits and whatever other BS. Well then, let's get it over with. Guess I should be grateful I'm carrying lube." 

Dean glared at Sam, who glared back, red-faced. As his mouth opened to retort, Dean turned on his heel, marching back toward Baby. He knew he looked ridiculous, all stiff-legged and tripping over the uneven ground a few times as his vision went watery, and that Sam would yell whatever viciousness he could come up with at the back of Dean's head, but he didn't care. In his mind was dread: Dean tried to prepare himself mentally for being split open and emasculated beyond anything he'd even known. If this was what Sam demanded, well, he would take care of his brother, wouldn't he? 

* * *

"Oh, you never meant to knock me up? Well, here's a surprise for you: neither did I!" Sam fumed. "But when I thought that at least we're together in this, you proved me wrong. _I'm_ supposed to be happy that now I got a chance to go back to uni while _you_ get to continue being the big badass hunter. So, you tell me to look at my junk and that you don't 'question'," he air-hyphened. "So why am I the one to give up hunting, then? Why is it that you're fully okay and happy to be up my ass but god forbid even thinking about doing it the other way around? You're so full of shit, Dean!" Sam raged.

Exhausted from the ranting – when had that ever happened before? was his body betraying him even more? – Sam sat on the stones that formed the fire ring. "You may force me into becoming a single parent, and I'd accept that because I'd rather die before letting a child – our child – grow up the way we did, but I'm not you. I'll never force you into something you don't want. Your ass is safe, off limits, but so is mine from now on, and as soon as we're done with this mofo, I never want to see you again!"

Shocked by his outbreak, Sam dissolved into tears.

* * *

Yada, yada, blah, blah. The bile Sam threw at him was no less than Dean expected. In his mind, he fired off retort after retort but said nothing aloud, thinking he'd be out of earshot soon but Sam's voice really carried. Could've been the wind helping. He chose to ignore the 'don't want to see you again' part. Angry or not, though, Dean couldn't help but wince when Sam burst into tears. He stopped in his tracks. Beyond that, and turning around, he couldn't move. 

"No one's being a single parent." Dean was more than firm, in that stance. "No way, not after watching Dad. You don't want to give up hunting, fine. I can't argue with that. But what we are going to do, then? We're not raising a kid on the road, you won't get rid of it," that might have been unnecessarily cruel but Dean had had enough of pussyfooting around on the subject, "so what does that leave, huh? Give it up for adoption?" 

* * *

It was like watching a movie. There was this pathetic guy, crouched down and sobbing, and another guy standing over him, reading him the riot act. Sam couldn't believe that he was crying. It had to be a first, he could hardly remember crying when he was little – Dad wouldn't have allowed it – and here he was coming apart, falling to pieces.

Then his mind latched on to a word Dean had said. _Adoption._ Was that a solution? A way their child could lead a normal life? As much as Sam wanted to give up hunting, he knew it would never happen. Even if he tried, his past would always get back at him. As for his brother, the child's father, Dean didn't even pretend to want to give up hunting. It made so much sense to give away their child. The emotional fallout would leave Sam a hollow shell while Dean would clam up and claim that he didn't care while withering on the inside, but if there was any way their child could live the life he or she deserved to, it was by Sam and Dean letting it go.

Still, the thought of it... More tears found their way to Sam's eyes. He'd never hated himself for being weak as much as right now, but all he could do was reach out for his brother. "Please, Dean... Just... hold me?"

* * *

This time Sam didn't bluster back. As Dean stood there, waiting for more yelling, Sam broke down. Shocked, Dean tried to count on two hands when he'd seen adult Sam cry since his return to hunting. The night yellow-eyes had killed Jessica. John's funeral pyre, and John's final leave-taking. When he'd had to shoot Madison. Though Dean had not witnessed it himself, he knew: when the hellhound had come. The events of the Mystery Spot, as far as Dean was concerned, weren't even real, so any tears there dissolved with the rest into the haze of multiple alternate paths not taken.

But this, Sam now sobbing like a child or like he was grieving a heavy loss, put Dean into unfamiliar territory. It still stung, that Sam had even said out loud that he never wanted to see him again. No matter what Sam had done large or small, gone off to Stanford or the psychic thing, demon blood addiction, the kid forever bitching Dean out for eating and drinking like he did, or the possibility of a Croatoan time-loop future, something he would never, ever tell his brother about, there was never a minute Dean didn't want his brother with him. Not like, creepy 24/7 joined at the hip, but in contact, in each other's lives, preferably hunting together till the bitter end. 

"Sam..." was all he managed, choked up like a girl watching Titanic. Not sure how he would even go there, Dean was at Sam's side, then in front of him, both of them kneeling on the ground. He took his brother into his arms, just as he'd done so many times when they were kids, held him close, patted his back. He might've been humming Metallica or something. As if he'd come apart at the seams, Sam shook violently. "Go on... get it out," Dean murmured, and held on tighter. 

Now wasn't the time to think about how his brother felt against him, in his arms, but he couldn't help it. That large, strong body, muscle and heavy bones below, they were a perfect match. Dean admonished himself. He should be comforting Sam, somehow. After all, it was still his job. His hand had crept up to fist in the back of the long strands at the back of Sam's head; he released his grip and stroked Sam's hair awkwardly instead. 

* * *

As soon as Dean knelt down beside him, Sam calmed down. What the hell was going on – oh sure, he was pregnant and Dean apparently planned to make him into a hausfrau and mother, even in bed, but so what? Stuff like that happened to them all the time; they were Winchesters, after all. Okay, maybe not stuff like one of them being pregnant, but after all the other kinds of weird shit he and Dean'd been through Sam thought he should really pull himself together. What were his freaking hormones acting up in comparison to watching his beloved brother being torn apart by hellhounds? But when he felt strong arms cradle him and hold him close and Dean allowed him to get it all out, Sam let himself fall. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against his brother's chest. "I shouldn't react... _overreact_ like this, but I can't seem to act normally anymore." He leaned his forehead against Dean's shoulder and inhaled the familiar scent. 

Drawing a final deep breath, Sam pulled back slightly. "Thank you. For... that... and everything else. It's good to know that your brain is still functioning, dunno where mine has gone, and no, for once it's not in my pants," he managed a small grin. "I'll try to keep it together," Sam promised. He was gaining confidence as he spoke. 

"So," he said, still loosely held in Dean's embrace, "this had better not happen again tonight."

* * *

It took a while, but eventually Sam calmed. He sniffed a few times, cleared his throat and loosened his hold but made no move to back off. Dean couldn't help a small smile over Sam's apology for his hormones. "Don't worry, you have till tonight to man up. The monster will probably see through my disguise. I'm used goods," he joked. "As long as it can't tell the difference between you knocking someone up and being kno-" 

Light bulb moment. Dean dropped his arms and snapped his fingers once, loud. "That's it! That thing's gonna want a big, virile stud like you, dude! It's gonna smell the, uh, fertility, you're oozing it." Yeah, out there in the dry heat, Sam was sweating through his shirt and his scent was about to divert Dean's brains into the gutter. "But when it tries to put the whammy on you, your, uh, extra parts are gonna be key. They say you kill an incubus by conning it into having sex with a man. If this thing's a half-and-half, if it comes at you in a dream or trance, we're gonna have to take the chance your chemistry will gank both sides of it." 

* * *

Sam recognized immediately that Dean had an idea although it took him a moment to grasp what his brother was suggesting. It was outrageous – just like everything else in their current situation – and as brilliant as it was outrageous.

"You mean me being..." he cringed, "may actually be good for something? I really like the idea. I won't shower before tonight to lure the thing in and it won't know what hit it." He grinned. "If we both end up white downstairs, you won't even have to shave. Only... maybe we shouldn't wait until tonight. Right now I have to admit that the nympho witches scare me even more than the whatever-it-is we're after. Lemme think, maybe we could get its attention with a little private orgy here and now..."

Sam frowned. "There may be a catch, though. When it came after you, it did it after we'd um, _you'd_ just, er, done me." He looked down. "Any suggestions?"

* * *

Oh, no. Dean sat wide-eyed and powerless to stop Sam's runaway hormones from running the gamut again. No crying this time, but he went from crafty to humorous to aroused to pissed off in the span of a few heartbeats. 'Reassure him,' Dean told himself, taking a breath to keep calm. "Good for something? Good for monster catching, for sure. You're our secret weapon." Now they just needed to figure out how to best utilize Sam's condition to befuddle the monster. And how to kill it. 

He decided to take the bull by the horns. "Yes, if was after we did it, but I think the point is, it was right after we kinda knew you're..." Dean waved off the word that his brother had also avoided, "and then I dozed off. That's when it got me. Same as the other guys." 

Sam was giving him that look again, Bitchface #138: someone, namely Dean, wasn't being fair about their newly-existent sex life. If it were for any other reason, he'd have stuck to his guns, but Dean wanted this hunt over with and the two of them the fuck out of this town as much if not more than the man who was about to own him. After a long moment, he capitulated. "Fine, fine. We need to make it think you've impregnated me. So, over Baby's hood it is. You might have to have a nap, after, though. Your scent will still draw it." 

Draw it, if their plan worked, and then the thing would attack Sam in his sleep. Dean would stand by, ready to wake him if he seemed distressed. Only... There'd have to be some distress or it wouldn't work. "Sam, when it sniffed me out in a dream, it wasn't nice; it was creepy as hell and all... non-consensual. The good thing is, you don't have to have sex with it for real, but it seems pretty damned realistic. Are you... do you think you can handle it? We could find another way." Even as he said it, Dean was sure that it was the only way. 

* * *

Sam's eyes widened. Was Dean really suggesting that Sam... over Baby's hood? Dean denied Sam for love but he'd agree to bottom for the sake of the hunt? 

"No." Sam's voice was firm. "I can handle the monster doing its... thing while I'm sleeping, but I cannot handle abusing you. You said you don't want _that_ and I'm not gonna do it against your will."

When Dean opened his mouth, Sam raised his hand. "This is not negotiable. We'll find another way. Maybe we can trick it into thinking we did it, though. What if, for example, I, um, shoot on your hole; do you think it can tell the difference?"

The mental image made him shiver with sudden arousal. The expression in Dean's eyes told Sam that his brother must have just been hit by another wave of Sam's – freaking – pheromones. 

* * *

Part of Dean was relieved and part of him was disappointed. If Sam's refusal to fuck him provoked Dean's best impersonation of a grumpy, woken-from-hibernation badger, the next words out of his baby brother's face shocked him into stunned silence. Every chemical attributable to the delicate cocktail of arousal gushed through his bloodstream on the way to his crotch. There was no hiding instantly having to adjust his fly. 

"You... have a filthy mouth, Sammy," he choked out. Gasping for air didn't help. Carried by the breeze, a wave of Sam's pheromones hit him, rendering Dean powerless to control his own words. "Want it, want your come all over me, my ass... Walking jizz factory, 's what you are." How could that be so hot? Dean had been adamant about Sam not touching him there, before, his body had changed his mind for him. His hole... quivered, like it wanted those silky-sticky liquid blasts right the fuck now.

Again Dean turned on his heel. He made it all the way to the Impala, and stood there, back to Sam, undoing his belt. "Get your dick over here. Paint me white." Pushing his jeans and boxers down with a shake or two of his hips, Dean put his hands on the hood, effectively bending forward. His erection hung in front, doing its own little courtship dance to the beat of his pulse. Any second, Sam would loom over him and cover his bare ass. 

* * *

Dean's words sent shock waves through Sam's body. "Yeah," he gasped hoarsely. "'M gonna paint you white. Gonna shoot all over you. And then you're gonna fuck my filthy mouth till you scream."

Sam barely had time to enjoy the view of his brother bent over the Impala's hood before his body demanded action. Standing behind Dean, making sure Dean could watch him, Sam pushed his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His erection stood wet and proud and he grasped it, using only his fingertips to slide his foreskin up and down, squeezing on the crown and milking out a few drops of pleasure fluid.

"The only question is," he moaned, "do you want to watch me stroking off or should I rub up against you until I blow?"

* * *

Dean heard footfalls, then the clinking of a metal belt buckle, the distinct hum of a zipper being pulled down. More of that chocolate-chip-cookies-and-cock scent wafted over him; his knees wobbled and he was grateful for Baby's support. Sam stood enough to the side that Dean had a good view of him when he turned his head. There was his godlike brother, pants down, erect and dripping, playing with himself. Dean felt another surge of heat through his lower body and a drop of slick oozed from his slit, too. "Oh god... Want you to hump on me like a dog," Dean moaned. "Gotta feel you... now, Sam," he whined. Every needy tactile receptor in his body was screaming red alert. Aware he was acting so fucking slutty, he arched his back and pushed his butt out. 

* * *

When Dean moaned that he wanted Sam to hump him, Sam was lost. If there'd been a shred of awareness in him a second before, a vague sense of doing this because they needed to hunt down a monster, it had vaporized the second Dean stuck out his ass. The image was too much for his raging libido, Dean arching his back and moaning like a cat in heat. 

"You're gonna feel me," Sam promised as he moved closer. His hands were shaking as he put them on his brother's hips and pulled him flush against his erection. The copious amounts of pre-cum he'd already leaked eased the slide of his dick along Dean's crack, and he prayed for control: if his dick would catch on Dean's rim, Sam was afraid his instincts would take over and he'd simply take what was – offered? Dean _had_ offered that Sam could fuck him, after all! But no, a last trace of sanity reminded Sam that he couldn't do it. No, Dean's inner sanctum wasn't an option, nor a necessity: sliding between the tightened cheeks provided enough stimulation so that Sam knew he'd cum within less than a minute.

"Gods, Dean," he groaned while continuing to thrust, "feels so good! Wanna go like this forever, but," his breathing hitched as he approached his climax, "not gonna last. I'm gonna... gonna..." Sam halted for a second. It took all the effort he could muster and he knew it wouldn't last long. "Gonna cum like this, and then I'm gonna stroke myself off and shoot on your hole again. Please, Dean, say you want that, too!"

* * *

"Fuck yeah, want that, I trust you," Dean panted. The entire world melted down to the brand new sensation of his brother's thick, heavy cock scudding up and down the inside of his crack, the inner, secret skin that rarely if ever saw daylight. Sam was leaking like a sieve. Pre-come slicked his hole, the tight little pucker responding to the warm ooze and constant rutting. Disconcerted by the diversion of some of the blood rush to his 'inner sanctum', as Sam had sarcastically named it, Dean pushed back and joined the rhythm. His butt wanted the friction. No, his asshole wanted it. He was conflicted, so conflicted, his body eating up the touch while his mind said he wasn't supposed to want this, that they were only acting. Sam might be made like one but they weren't porn stars, and as far as Dean was concerned, no normal guy could 'act' a raging erection like he had currently. 

Already Sam was groaning that he was about to cum, and how he'd do it again after. Cranking his head around, Dean growled, "Do it... spill your spunk on me Sammy, _now!"_ It wouldn't get Dean there, but he'd enjoy the fuck out of watching and feeling Sam lose it. From what he could see, Sam's chest was puffed up and heaving with effort, nostrils flared, the cords in his neck standing out, and he was making the most obscene hip motions with his lower body that Dean had ever seen, in or out of a strip club. Some of the shock value was because it was man, some because it was his tightly-wound little brother, but visually-stimulated like most males, Dean could honestly say that Sam's moves were the end-all. 

And now his hole, lightly abraded and pushed at by the underside of Sam's dick for a while now, itched. Itched like it needed scratching. And not just on the surface. Maybe jizz would help. Sam was close; he rubbed up against Dean like a machine, grunting with every thrust. 

* * *

"Oh fuck, fuck, Dean!" Sam was breathless, his brain and body working together on the single purpose of getting him off. "Gonna... gonna... gnnnn...!!!"

He'd been leaking before, but when the first jet unloaded from his balls and splashed all over Dean's crack and lower back, Sam was suddenly sliding in his juices for real. The resulting lack of friction prolonged his climax and it drew out infinitely, with him spurting and spurting while he pressed his needy dick firmly against Dean. 

"Oh yeah, so good, fuck, Dean, you feel so good, wanna rub against you, cream all over you..." Sam babbled, his brain unleashing a flood of thoughts that was as abundant as the one flowing from his balls and prostate.

* * *

"Yeah, Sam... Feels good, you fucking that dick against my hole. Nut all over my ass... Empty those balls... Fuck!" Maybe Sam couldn't even hear him right now, but Dean got caught up in the testosterone-laden babbling. How could he not respond? His own balls tightened, and he willed himself not to spill on his car like an over-eager teen. 

It seemed like Sam came for hours. More and more hot stickiness pumped out over his ass, ran down his crack and then some. "Jeez... So much!" Dean whispered in awe. He'd said the same one of their other times together but he just couldn't get over it. Maybe Sam's extra parts also produced lubrication and expelled it through his penis. The idea amped up Dean's heat even more. While his brother groaned from deep his his chest signaling the end of his orgasm, Dean fumbled with shaky hands through the wrinkled up pockets of his jeans. There! 

"When you go again, Sam..." He turned enough to look his brother right in his watering eyes, and stuck his arm out awkwardly, handing him the tiny bottle. 

* * *

Not only did his balls release an incredible flood, Sam also felt himself overwhelmed with emotions again. Fucking hormones. Tears were streaming from his eyes when he – finally? – ceased spasming. Then Dean indicated that he wanted Sam inside him, and that was just... too much.

"No," he whispered, his voice had apparently gone lost during his moaning and writhing. "If we do that, we're gonna do it when we're on our own, not while drawing a monster out to play. I... love you too much for that, Dean." After a seemingly endless pause, during which Dean stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights at night, Sam added in an even lower whisper, "Sorry."

Dean kept looking at him and Sam, still lying half-way on top of his brother, bent forward and kissed Dean's lips. "I mean it. Once we're done here, my ass and my dick, hell, my whole body... and mind and soul.. are yours, but I want our first time – _that_ first time – to be special, like you made it for me."

Suddenly, he felt a featherlight brush on his butt and he stiffened. "Dean," Sam whispered urgently, wondering if it was the monster – and if it could understand human speech! "I'mma suck you off now if you want, and then I'mma shoot on your hole again."

_Please read my thoughts,_ Sam thought, aware that if anyone was ESP-blind, it was his brother, but this time he needed Dean to read him.

* * *

After Sam's offering ran mostly dry – and down Dean's sac and thighs – he just stared into his older brother's eyes, unwavering, and told him no, he refused to fuck him in the name of a hunt. Whether Dean would want that ever again, and if so, if he managed to work up the nerve to be taken, remained to be seen. 

Finally, Sam broke the tension by leaning down to kiss Dean's lips. They were warm and dry, not like the mess of seed drying on his butt. Dean gave Sam his mouth, the angle awkward but the pressure sweet and soft. No one had thought to make Dean's actual first time special all those years ago, or to even ask him if he'd done it before. At the time, he'd been eager just to get it over with and get his V-card stamped. It had been in Baby's back seat on a winter night after he'd gotten into a college bar on a fake ID. Sure, he'd been way too fast, but he'd made it up to that chick and many more since. Part of him wanted to scoff that Sam was such a girl. It hadn't been easy for Sam though, as much as he'd wanted it, referring to the guy-on-guy business, getting him open and relaxed enough not to hurt him. Dean was going to be more nervous – not that he'd admit that – if it ever happened, and Sam was bigger. 

Besides the eye-fucking, Sam was trying to tell him something else now beyond his next filthy directive. That was still enough to make him drip on Baby. Never great at reading body language, Dean answered the verbal cue. "On your knees; I wanna cum..." Oh. He got it. They were trying to fool the monster and Sam had already told him what he'd do next so... The thing must gave manifested somehow. He hadn't felt it, so that could only mean... "Sam," he whispered. "Is it here?" 

* * *

Sam locked his eyes with Dean's. "Yess," he exclaimed, hoping that Dean would read it as the answer to his whispered question, not only as enthusiasm for what he was about to do. There was definitely some kind of presence behind him. Dean didn't remark on seeing anything, but Sam _knew_ it was there.

"On my knees," he rasped, "yeah, I want that. Gonna make you cum so good..." 

Sam dropped on his knees and didn't linger. He immediately slurped Dean's erection down and sucked him in hard and deep, moaning when the firm flesh hit the back of his throat.

The eerie feeling of... _something_ brushing his backside moved its touch to his asshole and he stiffened for a second, then forced his attention back to Dean. If they understood right, the thing was likely to wait until Sam had sprayed Dean's hole again. 

Deciding to ignore everything for now but his brother's pleasure, Sam continued to lick and suck the quivering erection in his mouth.

* * *

Just as Dean had asked or maybe demanded, Sam dropped to his knees right there by the side of the road. The picture of his brother's arousal-swollen and -darkened lips covering his dusky cockhead then sliding along the shaft while Sam stared up at him, almost did Dean in. Somehow, he managed to stave off an instantaneous climax. Some of his negligible control had to do with how Sam's chin pressed against his balls, keeping them trapped. Stubble abraded his sweaty flesh, but then the suction took over and Dean dove into the hot, wet, slurping cavern till he bottomed out in Sam's throat. 

The resulting moan of effort and surprise vibrated all around his glans; Dean's eyes rolled back in his head, fireworks exploding behind his closed lids. "Nnngg, Sam!" His pelvis rolled as he thrust himself again and again into that enthusiastic vacuum. Sam might be inexperienced, but he caught on fast, slurping around the head and licking up the increasingly milky pre-come when he needed a breath. Between all the teasing and frustration earlier, Sam shooting his load on Dean's ass and the hot mess of a spit-dripping, noisy roadside blow job, Dean didn't stop his balls tightening then pulling up almost into his body. "I... I'm g-gonna...uuunnnguuuhh....!" 

He came in waves, the first two spurts ripping from him in almost violent strength. Struggling to swallow, Sam's throat rippled around him. It just went on and on. What felt like an unnatural amount of seed flowed from him, though for all Dean knew it was just a spoonful. While his brother caressed his overheated shaft through to the end, he rode several more crests, dazed into cross-eyed, breathless silence. 

When finally it was over, Dean found he was shaking like a leaf. At some point, he'd grabbed Sam by the hair again; the first thing he did was unwind his fingers from the long strands. As gently as he could, he pulled away. "Next time... bed. I'mma fall over," he wheezed. He knew he'd better get his game face on, since the thing they were hunting was already sniffing around Sam, but it was so hard to move even enough to just close his mouth, much less... "'Spose I should turn around f'r you." Then he grinned, perking up. "Or I could put butt-prints on Baby's hood." 

* * *

Breathing quickly became an issue with Dean's fat cock down his throat, but Sam hadn't exactly had time to think things through and develop a strategy. He held on to his breath as long as he could, then pulled back and licked at Dean's glans while drawing air. Dean's eyes went glazed, so he was probably doing something right. Alternating between taking him in as deeply as he could and swirling his tongue around the head, Sam soon got a rhythm going. 

The sound his brother was making! Sam was glad he'd just cum, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to hold back. When Dean warned that he was close, Sam opened his throat and prayed he wouldn't provide an involuntary end by choking and coughing. He had to struggle to swallow – and where did all the juices come from? – but the effort was well worth it. Still, some of it trickled down his chin, which Sam didn't interpret as his failure but he was proud of Dean's abundant flow.

It went on forever, and then Dean was a shaking mess, held upright only by the two... _things_ for lack of a better word, he loved most in the world: Sam and Baby. Just when Sam feared he might be overcome by mushy feelings, he felt the _presence_ brush along his inner thigh. Very glad that he'd kept his pants mostly on and just pushed them down a bit, he answered Dean's question.

"Turn around, I still wanna shoot on your hole," Sam said. "We can leave the butt-prints for the next time." With the _thing_ touching him from behind, he didn't want to see Dean's face when he came. It was wrong: he and Dean should enjoy their love without anyone or anything interfering. Since they had no alternative to following through with their plan, he didn't want Dean watching him. 

Sam would explain and apologize later, after they'd made sure that the monster was dealt with. Then he and Dean would leave butt prints and more all over the Impala, hood, seats, maybe even the roof, for fuck's – literally – sake, before Sam would take Dean to bed and they'd explore each other until they were too exhausted to ever get it up again. 

Right now, however, they had to get rid of the demon. Sam stepped back and stroked his erection that had flagged from thinking of their task back to hardness. "Show me your backside," he whispered, "and spread your cheeks for me."

* * *

Already ruddy-faced from pleasure and exertion, the whimper Dean emitted at Sam's urgently-whispered command made him turn beet-red. Yet his balls squeezed out one last trickle through his softening dick; all it took was Sam bossing him around about something sexual. Dean turned himself around the space of Sam's octopus embrace in several shuffling steps. 

Behind him, Sam was stroking his meat; Dean sensed the motion as well as his brother's tension. Their plan had to work or they'd forever be remembered in Elko as the two fake CDC schmucks who bit it with their pants down at the Hot Hole. He'd better make this good. 

"Spread my cheeks, huh?" He shoved his jeans down farther. "Like this...?" Lifting one knee, Dean hoisted it up onto Baby's shiny black hood, pushed it out to the side, then leaned forward. Once he found a balance, propped up on one elbow, he reached back and grasped one butt cheek, effectively spreading his crack. Warm desert air kissed his exposed hole which clenched and unclenched a couple of times. "Get me good, Sammy. You know you wanna... see me dripping with your stuff again." 

Like he wasn't still sticky from before. There was no way Dean would let another person see him like this, talk to him that way, or touch him in this position, only Sam. If they could just stop fighting over stupid crap, they could have the best sex life ever, no monsters involved. The blunt tip of Sam's cock prodded him, then slid up into the valley of his crease. "Whatever you need me to do... Just say," he offered.

* * *

Seeing Dean so aroused and hearing his whimpers was an incredible power rush for Sam. His balls got the message immediately and spewed a trickle. Sam knew this was only the beginning as he stroked himself firmly. The nagging feeling in his head that he wasn't doing it exclusively for Dean couldn't be ignored, but the part of him that focused on his brother made up for it.

"Dean," Sam groaned, "s-so good! 'M gonna shoot all over your hole, make you all wet," he swallowed down the drool that suddenly accumulated in his mouth before continuing in the raunchiest voice he could muster, "and then I'll lick you out till you beg me for more." That last part would have to happen later after they'd killed the demon, but Sam meant it. 

As he stroked and pulled faster, he felt the brushing sensations on his back and his inner thighs get more... solid... He forced his attention on his brother's hole, hoping the eerie presence wouldn't void his libido before the trap was fully set.

"C-close, Dean," he moaned.

* * *

Dean groaned again, though he was spent, wrung dry, limp. Then Sam echoed with the desperate message that he was close, which Dean estimated as seconds from release by the urgent slap-slap-slap from behind. 

He wanted what Sam promised, being licked _there,_ but in a relatively safe and private environment. It had surprised and shocked him how much he got off on Sam rubbing up against him and jizzing on his ass. Now he'd be treated to a second helping. The 'bend over' references would likely never end. "Go on, that's right, let it go for me... cream my hole! All your precious baby-making seed!"

Oh fuck, where had that come from? Dean flailed for a justification of such a ludicrous line and decided that 'convincing the monster' was the best he could do. Sam stiffened like he'd been stabbed and his dick pulsed wildly. "Sammy...?" 

* * *

Dean's command to let it go ran the cup over. Sam's balls pulled up and started pumping thick blobs of creamy goo right on his brother's quivering entrance. Caught up in the pleasure, his brain took a little longer to decipher what Dean had actually said: _your precious baby-making seed_ – what the fuck? Maybe it was a primitive instinct to make sure his genes remained in the pool, but the thought of actually impregnating Dean notched up his urgency and squeezed a few last drops from his now throbbing twin glands. 

"D-deannn..."

Sam felt drained all of a sudden, and it was more than just afterglow. He barely managed to lean on the Impala's hood next to his brother when his eyes already closed and he entered a state of... what it was, Sam couldn't say – when he tried to open his mouth, he found that he couldn't speak, and any other movement he attempted was in vain, too; it felt like being trapped in thick rubber. 

At the same time, the brushing sensation all over his body increased to a strong tingling. Although he was sure that the presence wasn't physical he could have sworn that it was invading him, wiggling into his asshole, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't breathe and something was trying to crush him. Black dots danced across Sam's vision and a high-pitched shriek threatened to pierce his eardrums from the inside of his head. 

Sure that he was about to die, Sam's only thought was that he should have told Dean once more how much he loved him. Then the pressure was suddenly gone and the last thing Sam heard was his own scream as his body went boneless and he slid off the Impala's hood.

* * *

Another load of warm spunk dripped over him a second later, thick and sludgy. Dean savored it, knowing how it felt when the reserves ran low, almost painful, and yet Sam was still inspired to gift him with what he had. When he'd depleted himself, Sam twisted away and slumped over Baby's hood just beside him, breathing heavily and shuddering. Turning sluggishly to assess the situation, Dean noticed immediately that Sam's eyelids were closed, fluttering like he was dreaming. 

A buzzing noise filled Dean's ears. Then it turned to an otherworldly scream, bouncing oddly from inside his own head to outside it within inches, and then all around them, like an overheated pinball on speed. Before he could get a handle on what to do about it or even so much as pull his pants up, Sam let out an awful shriek of his own and started to slide off his precarious resting place. Dean doubted he did much to cushion the fall, but he also buckled to the ground and grabbed on to Sam to at least slow him. 

They huddled together next to the wheel well while the demon boinged from hill to hill, down to the hot spring and back to them at close to lightning speed. Several times, it seemed to try to materialize in front of them, but never in the same form: beautiful women of all races; a hideous tentacled creature; various angelic-looking males ranging from twink to ultra-masculine; ghostly zombie-like soul-sucking humanoids... Dean wondered if he was going crazy. It was like the thing couldn't find the right form with which to seduce or else entrap Sam – which had been their MO but seeing its repertoire was both educational and terrifying. 

All the while, the screaming noise got louder and louder till Dean wondered if his eardrums or head would explode. All he could do was hold on to Sam and wait for the thing to burn itself out. Finally, the entity settled in a vibrating fireball about ten feet away. Just when Dean was sure they were dead, it formed into an androgynous youth that looked like both Sam and Dean ten years previous. "What are you?" it wailed. "Neither man nor woman, and with child. I must take your essence or give you mine, or I die!"

"Die, motherfucker!" Dean yelled. "He's more man or woman than you'll ever be!" His hand fumbled for the .45 he'd stuffed in his jacket pocket. A few silver bullets remained of the batch they'd made when John was still alive. It was idiotic; the thing was still incorporeal, but it felt so satisfying to shoot it.

* * *

Sure he must be hallucinating, Sam leaned against Dean as they watched the creature zing around with a dizzying speed, continuously changing its form and appearance. There was a buzzing in his ears overlaid by the howling and shrieking. He felt sick and closed his eyes. Finally, a voice cut through the noise, high-pitched soprano and testosterone bass at the same time. When Sam looked up again, the demon had partially materialized as a young man – a young woman – that looked like him and Dean – struggling for life. It shimmered, translucent, looking so desperate that Sam almost felt pity, but he knew that it would evolve and become more dangerous with time and needed to be destroyed. 

Only, Sam felt too sluggish to move and if his body, a pregnant man – which the monster had just once again confirmed! – wasn't enough to kill it... He needn't have worried. Dean pulled his .45 and put the incubus-succubus-whateverubus out of its misery with a well-aimed silver bullet. After the noise from just seconds ago, they found themselves engulfed in a sudden silence that was only interrupted by Sam's panting...

...and the sound of an approaching car. A _big_ car, probably a busload full of tourists that were about to get an eyeful of half-naked, spunk-covered Winchesters.

His and Dean's eyes met and they somehow managed to step into the Impala before the bus came to a halt. Sam's pants were still around his hips and he knew that Dean would tease him about this for years to come, but it didn't matter. Between utter exhaustion and exhilaration, Sam closed his eyes again, trusting his brother to take them back to the motel now that the job was done.

* * *

Between Sam's hormone cocktail, which rendered the demon vulnerable, and the silver bullets, the fireball with their youthful amalgamated face fizzled out with one last eerie wail, in a few greenish sparks. Dean held still with the gun aimed where it had disappeared, sure that ganking it had been too easy. When nothing happened, he lowered the pistol and turned his attention solely to Sam, who'd been the one to bear the brunt of the attack – the thing had to have touched him or worse to freak out as it did. A streak of white now ran from Sam's right temple through the otherwise chestnut strands. Dean thought it looked good on him, though Sam wouldn't necessarily appreciate the reminder of this hunt. 

They had to get out of there. Sam was coming around but he was groggy. The strange lights and noises, not to mention, gunshots, were sure to draw the local LEOs any minute. Not only that, a big yellow damned school bus was lumbering down the narrow road right for them. Somehow, he lifted Sam into the passenger seat of his car, slammed the door, and he himself crawled into the backseat on the same side, rather than going around to the driver's side with his pants – or worse – flapping in the breeze. He wrestled his clothes back into place, grimacing at the dried and not-dried spunk all over his ass. Coming in his boxers was bad enough; someone else's loads was kind of disgusting but what could he do? 

Sit in it, was about all. They both were in desperate need of cleaning up. Besides all the semen, they were sweaty and coated with a fine grit from the sand particles blowing around. The stink of sulfur clogged his nose. Dean slithered over the seat and started the engine. "Going back to town now, Sam. To the motel. I wanna make sure you're okay." He hesitated for only a second. "Tell me if it hurt you, or the baby." Whatever he had to do, Dean would make sure they were alright, even if it took turning their lives into a freak show for the next few months. 

He glanced at Sam, who groaned and levered himself more upright. "Dude, you'll wanna put the snake back in its cage before we get there."

* * *

Snake? Sam frowned. What snake? Oh. Right. He wiggled around on the seat until he'd pulled up his pants and closed the zipper. "I don't think it hurt me," he said and yawned. "Feels like I went five rounds with... never mind." He yawned again.

"Motel sounds good," Sam said. "I dunno about you, but I want a shower, preferably with holy water, and then sleep for three days." 

* * *

"Yep, me, too. I never thought I'd say it... but we've had way too much sex. What do they call it, honeymoon syndrome or something? Shower, we've had so many, our skin's gonna flake off, but man, we need it." 

Even though he was physically exhausted, drained, Dean's brain wouldn't shut off for some reason. Just as well that one of them be somewhat alert before they found themselves napping at the side of the road. In this heat, they'd be in danger of baking themselves. "You want holy water? Uh... did it. You know. Did it?" 

He wasn't stupid. The incu-succu-thing had to have at least tried, or it wouldn't have been weakened and ultimately died. "How about a holy water enema?" Dean snorted. Humor was the best defense, he decided. "And I'll have a holy water sitz bath to get all your stuff off my butt... if I can even get my pants off. I'd swear my underwear's spackled on now." 

It wasn't far to town, not long at the speed Dean was driving. He slowed before they hit city limits and their motel was only a few more blocks. At the moment, Sam dozed a little, but he looked half dead and Dean's gut clenched with worry. He pulled up to their door, prepared to carry Sam inside and bathe him himself, if needed. First thing though: hydration. He got out and circled around Baby's back end to the passenger side. "Can you stand?" he asked as he opened the door. 

* * *

Sam opened his eyes when the Impala pulled up at their motel and Dean jumped out. "'M good," he said, "just knackered. And dirty." He shuddered. It was only then that his brain deciphered what Dean had suggested during the drive. 

"You... recommend... a _holy water enema?"_ Sam gasped. His brother must be out of his mind, but given the absurdity of their situation, the suggestion may even have made some sense. "And in return, you get a sitz bath? Fuck me!" He broke into helpless laughter, then noticed that his bladder was close to bursting – again.

"Dean, man, just hurry and unlock the door, will you?" Sam wheezed. "I'm about to pee my pants."

* * *

Damn! Dean hadn't considered Sam's overactive bladder for at least a few hours. He backed away and went to fumble with the lock. After two tries, he managed to jab the key into the slot and twist the door knob. "Dude, I dunno how you have any water left to even produce any pee, as much as you've been jizzing and sweating, today." Dean's smart mouth didn't fail him, but he found he was talking to Sam's back as his brother brushed past him on the way to the toilet, a thundering herd of one.

Since he had to wait his turn anyway, Dean went back outside and popped Baby's trunk, grabbing a large bottle of holy water. This would be quite warm, and it had started as bottled spring water, so pure. They could always bless more in the sink or tub, if they had to. His offhand remark about enemas and sitz baths had been mostly bullshit, but who knew what Sam might consider necessary. Surely he'd want the impression of the monster-touching off him. And, Dean mused, Sam was no shrinking lily about having his ass messed with... fingered, licked, penetrated, stuffed full... So different from the prude Dean had occasionally imagined he'd grown up to be.

Back in the room, Dean pushed the door shut with his foot, set the water down, and renewed the salt lines. Listening to Sam pee lately was like Niagara Falls, but he heard nothing. Sam must have finished. With a shrug, Dean knocked on the bathroom door. 

* * *

Thankful that Dean complied immediately, Sam hurried to the tiny bathroom. Hissing with frustration while he struggled with his zipper, his eyes watered when he succeeded and finally let go. Ah, the relief made him cry, but honestly, Sam thought as the pressure slowly faded, the sensation of the fluids leaving his body was better than anything else he could think of right now. When the initially strong stream ebbed down to a trickle, he stood before the toilet, thinking of nothing, until Dean banged on the door.

"Yeah," Sam shouted as he shook off and tucked himself away. "I'm good." As tempting as it was to tell his brother how much he'd enjoyed peeing, he refrained from saying it. Dean wouldn't understand – hell, a week ago, Sam wouldn't have understood either. He sighed. So they'd taken care of the monster, but Sam's problems were only just beginning. If he'd harbored even the slightest doubt over being pregnant, the demon's parting statement had crushed his hope. It wasn't possible, but here he was, a pregnant man.

"Dean," Sam said as he opened the door to admit his brother. "I need a shower." Moving closer to Dean, he added, "and I suggest you'd benefit from having one, too. And then we need to rest. That thing sucked out a lot of energy from both of us. Also, and believe me, it's that last thing I want, but we'll have to talk, eventually. But please, can we sleep for a while before we decide on what to do next?"

* * *

Good, Dean thought, letting go of some of his tension; Sam wasn't sulking or passed out. He grunted an affirmation that he hoped conveyed something like 'all of the above'. Setting the bottle of holy water on the edge of the sink, he turned the hot water on in the shower stall. Yes, they'd have to talk. He'd promised Sam. He just didn't want to do so this second. 

Peeling his clothes off – mainly his lower ones – was going to be a literal pain in the ass. He also wasn't especially eager to be greeted by his snow-white pubes. Now that they'd ganked the demon or whatever, he hoped that eventually his hair would go back to normal, as in normal for a dude his age, not 80. Once again, Dean laid his gun, wallet and keys on the lid of the toilet tank, confident nothing would mess with them, or his memory. From there, he tossed his jacket, button-up shirt and tee-shirt in the corner and kicked his shoes in the same direction. Steam began to rise and gather in the air. Dean's skin itched from dried cum and in anticipation of scrubbing it all off. He slid his jeans down, but when he went for his boxers, he'd barely done more than hook his thumbs over the waistband when he grunted again, in pain. "'s gonna be like ripping off a band-aid," he grimaced. 

* * *

Dean's body language told Sam that his brother agreed to all of his suggestions, shower, sleep, and – later – talk. As Sam watched Dean undress, he wondered how normal everything seemed. Okay, usually, he'd have left the bathroom after snarking that he really didn't need to see his brother naked, but that was in the past now. 

Dean had relaxed when Sam had given him the 'all clear', but he tensed visibly when he made to remove his boxers. Sam nodded in understanding. Maybe he should feel a little guilty, after all, it was his spunk that had dried into plaster. Dean didn't like being coddled, though, and Sam decided not to apologize, offering 'practical' advice instead: "Think positive," he grinned. "Do it right and we won't have to shave you if you rip yourself a Brazilian now."

* * *

"I gotta better idea," said Dean, "one that doesn't involve me whimpering like a little bitch." He flashed Sam a grin and backed into the stall, shorts and all. In seconds, he was soaked to the skin, and he turned around to get the front side, letting the water run over his face and neck. "Wanna help de-crustify me?" 

* * *

Sam laughed. The monster was dead and although he was pregnant, he was also exhausted. Some hysteria was in order, he decided. "Yeah, I'll help de-crustify you," Sam said and began taking his clothes off. "That's what brothers do for each other, and after all, I'm the one who put the crusts there to start with. Although maybe I'm just a little tempted to stand back and watch you whimper like a little bitch," he teased. "But, no, I wouldn't do that to you – what the...?"

When Sam caught his face in the mirror, he gaped at the image. It was half-way misted over but when he wiped the glass with his sleeve he saw a white streak running through his hair. "Fuck," he moaned. Dean now had wind-up material until the white had grown out, which, given the length of Sam's hair, could take a year or two. Sam wouldn't admit to it but he was proud of his hair and this was unfair, like a final triumph of the demon even after it had been killed!

"Please tell me I don't look like a badger downstairs," he said to Dean as he pushed his pants down but didn't dare to check for himself what had happened to his pubes.

* * *

What was Sam talking about, "badger"? Bad-tempered critters that lived underground...? Then Dean realized it had to be a reference to Sam's newly-striped hair. Of course it would be about his hair, the one thing his brother was vain about. But he'd also said 'downstairs', and rustling and clinking sounds accompanied his stripping off. Naturally Dean swiveled his head around to check Sam out. He was naked except for his socks, with no white hairs on him but the streak on his head. It was a testament to how exhausted and fucked out they were that Dean didn't even think about how to next seduce the man owning that gorgeous body. "Nope, no badger. Coulda been even worse: skunk!" Dean laughed. "Next case, we could call you Agent Le Pew. Or I might anyway if you don't wash in the next two minutes." It was just a joke. With some patience and a lot of warm water, Dean got his boxers mostly off, but underneath, behind his balls, he was still stuck. Making big wounded eyes at Sam, Dean deliberately let out a pathetic whine. 

* * *

"Skunk, huh?" Sam grinned. "As long as you don't feed burritos to Agent Le Pew I can live with the name." He raised an arm and sniffed at the pit, then muttered, "Although I'd say I stink bad enough even without burritos, so I'll definitely join you in the shower." He stepped into the stall and only then noticed that he was still wearing his socks. "Oops."

Meanwhile, Dean did his best at playing 'little bitch' and let out a whine that made Sam shake with laughter again. "Need some help there?" he grinned and motioned for his brother to face the wall. Taking firm hold of the waistband of Dean's boxers, Sam instructed, "Deep breath," and yanked them down. 

* * *

Determined not to make a sound, Dean braced himself against the wall. A second later, Sam had rid Dean of his stuck-on boxers and what felt like hundreds of hairs. He didn't care to look. White-hot needles of pain in a very sensitive area brought stinging tears to Dean's eyes and left him breathless, but it was almost immediately except for a dull throbbing. He reflected that so many women – and men – would never be able to tolerate waxing if it wasn't over quickly. When he could speak, Dean remarked, "Well, that sucked. Although... getting into that situation wasn't bad... for me." Sam on the other hand, had been monster-bait. "I brought the holy water, it's on the sink. Do you want me to get it? Tell me what you need, Sam." 

* * *

Sam's eyes watered with sympathy, but they both preferred yanking band-aids off to the slow approach, and Sam had guessed that Dean would want it this way, over before he could think about it. "Yeah, it sucked," he agreed with his brother's heartfelt comment, then grinned again. "But you've been brave and deserve a reward," he teased. 

Then again, maybe he'd better shut up. Their Dad had never praised them for being brave when they'd been little, not even when they'd needed stitches or, later, bullets taken out without anesthetic. Pushing aside the memories, Sam changed topic.

"What I need," Sam said with a warm smile, "is all here: you." He laughed loud and happily. "I don't care how cheesy that sounded, it's true. Let's wash and de-crustify, then I'll shave you if you still want it, and finish with a holy water shower to make sure. After that, I wanna sleep in your arms followed by, um, you know," he blushed a little, "then coffee and breakfast. And after that, maybe we'll be up to discuss what to do, where to go next, but for now I have all I could want right beside me."

* * *

"You've got me," Dean stated simply, looking up into his brother's eyes. "If you can stay upright long enough to shave me, I'd just as soon get rid of the polar bear," he waved a hand at his groin. "We don't have a monster to fool and maybe we should just leave the local witches to their own devices, but I still want this freakshow gone." Sliding his arms around Sam's chest, Dean pulled his brother in close. "Then we sleep. You have no idea how much I wanna sleep... with you." 

He wasn't trying to start anything; they were both too out of it. Yet Dean couldn't resist dipping his head enough to lick at Sam's nearest nipple, which had perked up when he undressed and now hardened under his tongue. Sliding one hand down Sam's long back, he sucked the tiny bud, hard enough to leave a mark. "We'll figure it out," he breathed when he pulled back. "I promise."

* * *

Hissing when Dean latched on to his nipple, Sam closed his eyes again. Knowing why his buds were swollen and oversensitive didn't make them hurt any less, but the pain made him feel alive, proved that they'd come out victorious once again. Dean held him close and when he let go of Sam's tortured nipple, Sam smiled at him and pulled him up for a kiss.

"Let's give the polar bear time to soak while we wash and I'll help you get rid of it – if we can get you hard, that is: I'm afraid little Sam has decided to pull the union card," he pointed at his limp dick. "If you can't, we'll postpone shaving to after we've rested. I'm sure we'll be fully, um, recharged by then." Sam coughed.

* * *

"Yeah, about that," Dean coughed, after returning Sam's kiss. That felt nice. Nice but not arousing, per se. Did Sam even know how soft his lips always were? His dick might think another round was on the agenda, but he knew better – a few twitches was all it was good for. "Now I'm having weird flashbacks to what you said your even weirder college buddy thought was necessary for shaving _that_. Little Dean's down for the count. Let's just wash." 

Telling his brother he couldn't get it up, however temporary, whatever the reason, was about as real as it got for Dean. He grabbed their bottle of shower gel and dumped some into his cupped palm. "You first," he warned, and then smeared it across Sam's torso. Avoiding the nipples, he worked up a lather in the scruff of chest hair and lower, marveling as always over the warm, firm flesh. One thing about growing up together, he knew where Sam's ticklish spots were. Today, he left them alone, though he couldn't resist tracing the cuts of the defined lower abs and hipbones in passing. Bubbles ran down Sam's legs thanks to gravity and the shower. 

"Alright, arms up," Dean ordered. "Time to get rid of the stench." 

* * *

As Dean spread the shower gel on Sam's chest, Sam hummed with pleasure: he felt loved. However, when Dean ordered him to raise his arms, Sam laughed again and cocked his head. "Are you sure? We've survived the sulfur at the Hot Hole and all, but do you think you're ready for this?"

* * *

"Dude, I think I prefer sulfur," Dean laughed. "You gonna get all stubborn on me like when you were eight years old and didn't want to bathe more than once a week, whether you needed it or not?" Luckily that phase hadn't lasted long. For most of his life, Sam had been fussier about his cleanliness and appearance than most boys. No one could survive a hunt without stinking and being covered in who-knows-what. At least it wasn't shifter skin slime this time. Or ecto. Or any number of gross substances.

One of them was doing this job. If they hadn't been almost ready to fall over, Dean might have pushed Sam back against the wall and wrestled him into it, but he didn't want to crack his melon open in the process. One eyebrow up, he cocked a hip and waited.

* * *

"That's unfair," Sam stated. "Me not wanting to bathe all the time when I was eight was nothing compared to you when you were 15 and trying to impress the girls with that collection of aftershaves you stole from any place that sold it. I'm surprised you ever managed to get laid – no, wait, let me rephrase that. You probably laid yourself, passing out from the fumes before any action could happen." He snorted, then raised his hands in mock surrender.

"All right, go ahead then, knock yourself out," Sam grinned. "Unless I knock you out with my manly pheromones, of course. Although I guess you'll retaliate with your own in a minute."

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes at the mention of his teenaged attempts at... scent. "Fine, so I spent age 15 showering in cologne," he conceded grudgingly. "More than half my lifetime ago." He didn't add that he'd still managed to get laid just fine, thank you very much. No doubt Sam wouldn't want to be reminded of that. "Anyway, that ended when Dad confiscated my collection, claiming that any monster would smell me 10 miles off, even the sort like ghosts and spirits that lack noses." As if it had only happened yesterday, Dean pulled a face like a sulking teen but couldn't hold the pose for more than a second or two.

Having had enough of the verbal ping-pong, he grasped Sam's left forearm, raised it over both their heads and went for the pit, pretending to gag. His handful of liquid soap did the trick in a minute. Just because he could, Dean lingered over scrubbing every inch of skin and every hair, then stood aside to let Sam rinse, after which he repeated the same on the other side. 

"There, that's all kinds of better. We might even be able to sleep without expiring from the fumes." He paused. Sam might not want to be touched where the baddie had laid its nasty fingers or... whatever, on him. Or in him. On the other hand, if he'd wanted holy water to – symbolically – wash away the stain of the thing, he could very well need it for more than actual cleaning purposes. "How about your backside now?" 

* * *

"Yeah, well, here's to happy childhood memories," Sam snorted. "You know, except for the reason Dad gave you for stopping the stink, that's one of the few things that could have actually happened in any normal family, too." He let Dean clean him, then turned to face the wall when asked if he wanted his backside done, too.

"I definitely want you to clean my back," Sam said. "Give it a good scrub except, well, you know, sensitive parts you might want to access later. Soap first, then holy water." He shuddered. "I meant that when I said it. That and," his voice softened, "your hands will eradicate any trace of it from my body and my mind."

* * *

"Like we ever do anything normal," he replied. The picture presented to Dean now, as Sam turned his back to him and leaned forward with his elbows on the wall, feet spread apart, made his mouth and eyes water. He couldn't wait to get his hands all over that. If Sam wanted his back well-scrubbed, that's what he was going to get. Miles and miles of slick, tan skin, all his. Dean warmed more gel and started washing Sam's upper back, working outward from there. The thick layer of muscle shifted at his touch, almost like Sam's flesh was extra-sensitive, and was following him. As Dean moved upward to the shoulders, he dragged his short nails, not hard, just enough to scrape off dead cells, which he knew from his own self were both hard to reach and itchy.

He washed lower and lower, following Sam's spine. At his brother's lumbar region, he pressed harder with the heels of his hands. Weren't pregnant... people prone to back pain? Not that Sam was showing yet much less swaybacked with it, but who knew, all the other symptoms he was having. Before he went further, Dean paused to swipe the bottle of holy water off the edge of the sink. 

* * *

"I guess that's the point," Sam said. "I mean, look at me, pregnant by my brother, but even we lived through a few almost normal things." He sighed with relief when Dean washed and scritched his back. The gentle massage and the warm water soothed the tension from his muscles but he felt the exhaustion return. Once Dean was finished with him, Sam would have to muster all his remaining strength to return the favor before he collapsed. Or, more likely, before _they_ collapsed: somehow, he doubted that Dean had much energy left, either. At least, in the meantime, the crusty mess on Dean's hole and the back of his balls was well-soaked and should come off easily.

Dean paused and Sam watched him reach for the bottle with holy water. "I take it that's the warning for a cold shower coming up?" He smiled. 

* * *

"Nah, it shouldn't be bad at all. It was in the trunk and think about how warm it is outside." Dean twisted the lid off the bottle and got behind Sam again; he almost had to shake his head to keep himself to task. "Okay, here we go." Using his left hand, he parted Sam's cheeks as well as could one-handed like that, while with the right, he slowly poured a stream of warm water down Sam's crack. The muscular globes clenched, trembled, then relaxed. A choked noise came from Sam, not sexual but it still made Dean's balls hitch. He continued to pour until the bottle was drained and the last ran down Sam's legs. "All clean."

* * *

Maybe it shouldn't have made so much of a difference, but it did. The holy water was lukewarm, like Dean had announced, but Sam felt refreshed. It worked not only against demons but helped with aftereffects of fighting them. He made a mental note to make use of that property more often in the future.

"All clean," Sam confirmed. "Your turn now." He grinned. "I think I'll deal with the polar bear before braving your pits."

* * *

"Whatever you prefer, since I'll be at your mercy and all," shrugged Dean when Sam turned back around. He didn't want to admit it, but the anticipation of having Sam touch his nether regions excited him. When his brother had creamed all over his hole – twice – something had twisted inside Dean. Or maybe, untwisted. It wasn't dark and evil. Just... light. Their road the next few months would be more difficult than most but they'd sustain each other. He supposed he was falling in love all over again. 

So far Sam had made no move to start. Soon, very soon, that pelt had to go! From now on, Dean decided, he was resuming his old habit of being well-groomed, hunt or not. Since Hell, he hadn't made much of an effort. No one had ever bitched about it; he wasn't a hairy guy at all, but he felt better about himself somehow when he manscaped. And the white was just... no. He shifted his stance and jutted his pelvis slightly in Sam's direction. 

* * *

Dean saying that he'd be at Sam's mercy brought tears to Sam's eyes. Dang him for being so emotional, but the trust in his brother's voice and eyes made him feel like a girl. Then again, he was pregnant. Still, he had no idea how Dean would react to him dissolving in tears, so Sam told himself to get a grip and turned Dean around so that the water ran down his back to where it was needed.

Sam let his hands follow the path of the water, over Dean's shoulders down to the narrower waist, then on his butt cheeks. Most of the mess was stuck in the soft hair behind Dean's balls and Sam carefully slid his cheeks apart, then sluiced the water down his crack, exposing the rosy pucker. It twitched and Sam held his breath. He still couldn't believe that Dean let him so close to his hidden entrance and swore to himself to treat it with the reverence it deserved. Earlier, his brother had made it clear that he wouldn't have anything up there, ever. Then, in the heat of their – demon-fueled? – passion, Dean had asked Sam to top him, but Sam wasn't sure if Dean had really meant that. What he was suddenly sure of, though, was that he wanted to make gentle love to this secret and scared little place, to make his brother weep with bliss – and he wasn't going to use his dick for it.

Dean had turned his head and was looking at him when Sam licked his lips nervously and knelt down behind him. "May I... kiss you... it?" Sam whispered.

* * *

The frontal approach didn't work well, and Sam motioned for Dean to face the wall. Suddenly all of his old straight-guy fears of someone taking from behind, or at all, reared up. Dean fought them down. It was just Sam. Remembering how he'd begged – good lord, him, begging! – Sam to fuck him earlier, Dean was glad his brother couldn't see his face. It had to be full of conflict and red.

Sam got to work then, directing water down his crack to loosen the gooey mess back there, which had congealed behind his sac. It took patience on both their parts to not simply pull more hair out by the roots, but the earlier experience taking his underwear off made Dean not want to repeat it. His body put up a token resistance, trying to keep his entrance concealed and tight. It must have looked ridiculous to Sam, who spared him any sarcastic comments. 

Satisfied he too was clean, Dean had it on his lips to declare himself done when Sam knelt down behind him and asked to kiss him. No, not him. His...! "Wha-aat?" Dean choked out stupidly. Sure, he'd done that to Sam, but it was different when he thought of himself on the receiving end. He wanted to ask Sam if he was sure, if it was him and not a leftover demon influence who propositioned the act. Then he looked into the hazel-green eyes looking up at him, eyes filled with nothing but love, and he whispered, "Do it." 

* * *

Swallowing when Dean whispered his permission, Sam licked his lips again and closed his eyes. His hands were cradling his brother's butt cheeks and pulling them gently apart as he drew closer. After having been washed, Dean was clean and Sam could hardly smell him, but at the fringe of his sense there was a trace of Dean's unique scent that Sam would always recognize. He moaned softly and kissed first one cheek, then the other, feeling the smooth muscle under the soft skin with his lips. 

Dean had been shivering at first, and Sam was convinced it hadn't only been from pleasure, but now he felt his brother's body relax. He wasn't familiar enough with Dean's sounds but he was sure the ones he heard now were good ones, little gasps as Dean's breathing picked up.

"I've got you," Sam whispered assurance as he continued to kiss the twin globes.

* * *

"Kiss my ass, Sammy," Dean shot back, although his tone skated halfway between a whisper and moan, certainly no insult. "It tickles..." Needing more, he arched his back, hoping Sam would get the idea. 

* * *

Trust Dean to make him laugh in any situation! Sam opened his eyes and laughed, a happy laugh, the kind they experienced so rarely. "Yeah," he said. "I'mma kiss your ass, Dean."

Spreading Dean's cheeks a little further, he smiled, then pursed his lips and brushed a first featherlight kiss on Dean's tiny pucker. It quivered at the soft touch and Sam immediately placed a second, equally gentle, kiss on it. Although he hesitated at first, he couldn't resist, the tight little hole drew him in. Sam blew on it, watching as it crinkled, then closed in again and let his tongue tip graze his brother's entrance, waiting for a reaction, with a quickly-beating heart.

* * *

What the hell was Sam doing back there? Dean held still, so still, barely breathing. All the little muscles of his rib cage froze. Hyper-aware of Sam's head level with his ass cheeks, his brother's lush mouth's proximity to his hole, just the slightest touch, even that made his body try to flinch but Dean caught himself. No, he wasn't pulling away now. 

"This is seriously weird," he confessed, voice nearly lost in the white noise of running water. Intermittent trembles shook his legs. Being this turned on usually made him hard. Unable to do that, Dean's sensitivity in other areas quadrupled. "It's like all the nerve endings in my dick wandered back there. They're all screaming for more, Sam." He took a steadying breath and let it out. Words other than bullshit and double-talk had never come easy for him. "I remember what it felt like, when you jizzed on me. There's muscle memory... that was sense memory. It felt like you marked me, claimed me. You know what I was begging for; I'm not scared. What I'm trying to say is... dive in, if you want," Dean grinned. "Face-first." 

* * *

"I know you're not scared," Sam confirmed. "Still wanted to make sure you really want it." 

_"Dive in, if you want,"_ Dean had said. Did Sam want? "Oh hell, yeah," he gasped, "I want it. I'll make love to you until you won't know what hit you, starting now."

Again, his heart beat picked up, but this time it was for a different reason than before. A part of Sam still could hardly believe that Dean allowed, no, asked him to touch his entrance after he'd so insistingly refused it earlier. He smiled and licked a broad stripe along Dean's crack, following it up with tiny kitten licks around the quivering hole. With the water streaming over his face and dripping from his hair, Sam closed his eyes again as he leaned in for more licking...

...and was the water cooling down a little? Sam frowned. He didn't want to stop, but maybe... "Dean, should we take this to the..."

The spray turned into ice cubes.

"...bed?" Sam choked out from between clenched teeth. 

* * *

Apparently Sam had been holding back. Once granted permission, he licked with intent. A million tiny nerves lit up, every one of them responding to the slick rasp of tongue and softer press of lips. If slipping wasn't such a likelihood, Dean would have pushed his feet as far apart as the stall allowed and really spread himself. What they'd done that afternoon, he couldn't get it out of his head, bent over and held still for his brother to do as he pleased, and Dean wanted to recapture feeling. 

Just when things started to get good, when Sam began to work his hole with his tongue, the water ran cold. Typical. But actually, he didn't mind that they had to change venue. "Yeah, bed." Once he'd stopped the deluge of liquid ice, Dean jumped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Since the maid had been by, clean ones hung on the bar, however non-plush in cheap motels like this. He held out another to Sam. 

Drying himself as he went, Dean stalked into the other room, hellbent on 'bed'. His senses told him Sam wasn't far behind. At first, he tried to bend over the side of the bed, but unlike Baby it was too low to the ground. Instead, he crawled up the mattress on all fours. "Do it some more, please Sammy..." he moaned, looking over his shoulder. Towel in hand, Sam stood there like a statue, but with fire in his eyes. "Loved it." 

* * *

They made it out of the shower in record time, no surprise there. Having grown up with often only cold water didn't mean that either of them liked it. As Dean wiped himself dry while walking over to the bedroom, Sam feared for a moment that his brother may have changed his mind but the way Dean spread out on the bed on all fours didn't leave any room for doubt whether he wanted Sam to continue.

Trying to swallow with his mouth suddenly gone dry, Sam stood frozen as he took Dean in. Muscular butt cheeks with dimples in the right places pushed Dean's groin into the mattress, supported by the strong bow-legs that Sam found so inexplicably but incredibly sexy. As Dean wiggled his ass in invitation, Sam's eyes traced his brother's upper body, up the back covered by too many scars, to the shoulders and finally the head with its short-cropped dirt-blond hair that looked convincingly enough like his natural color, myriads of tiny freckles – and an expression of pure impatience on his face.

Dean calling him 'Sammy' and begging for more broke his trance. Sam took a shuddering breath and knelt on the mattress between Dean's spread legs. "Yeah," he whispered, "I loved it, too. Dean," Sam's voice was ragged, "I don't think I can get it up, not even for you, but I swear I'll make this good for you... for _us."_

He took Dean's cheeks in his hands again and spread them until he could see the entrance. The crinkled skin drew him in like a magnet as he leaned down and circled it with his tongue. Dean's breathing turned shaky and Sam pushed the tip of his tongue against the center, coaxing it to yield. 

Sam hadn't lied when he'd said he couldn't get it up, but when his tongue slipped inside his brother's body, he felt a gush of fluid flow from his limp dick and he moaned deeply.

* * *

"Aw hell...!" Sam was on him like a force of nature in the form of a slick, hot, mobile and flexible tongue licking at his most intimate area. Eight long fingers and two thumbs held a death-grip on his butt cheeks to keep Dean from flying off the bed or fucking it while multiple swipes of lightning-strike pleasure tore through him. His body engaged in one long clench, all except where Sam licked and slurped. Back there, Dean opened up on tip of Sam's tongue's corkscrew curling, delving invasion.

Waves of goosebumps prickled Dean's skin, his nipples so hard they stung. Without a thought, he spread his knees out as far as they'd go and pushed his ass up into Sam's face. Despite the bruising grip, he somehow managed to grind against the quilted-polyester bedspread. No, he still couldn't get hard, but the friction felt amazing on his mostly-flaccid dick, which was somehow still making a wet spot under him, and no wonder, he was so turned on he almost wanted to cry from this thing, this new sensation of his hole being kissed and loved and gently, sweetly opened. 

He couldn't speak, only feel. It seemed so selfish to let Sam do all the work, but he couldn't give it up just yet. More firm prods into his tight little entrance had Dean gasping, eyes slammed shut to block out his primary sense so he could tune in to the slippery progress of his brother's tongue in and out of him while hot breath feathered up his back. Deeper and deeper into him, Sam didn't give up for lack of results, it was for proving something – Dean's trust in him to be equal partners – and for pure sensation. He felt sloppy from spit, relaxed. The licks and dips of tongue to his sphincter never ceased, and Sam learned quickly what made Dean groan and shiver most: firm, short licks to the furled muscle. 

In minutes, Dean's balls hung heavy again, pulled up against his body though he had no idea how he'd ever shoot through a soft cock. Heart pounding, new sweat breaking out on his body, Dean let it break him down into a quivering, raw mess of need. All too well, he remembered what had made Sam lose it every time, that little spot up inside him that, when rubbed, brought him to a screaming climax. Maybe Sam could find his...? "Fingers... use your fingers..." 

* * *

There was no question that Dean liked what Sam was doing – actually, saying that Dean _liked_ it was probably the understatement of the century, considering the sounds he was making and the way he pushed his ass up in such desperation that Sam had to jerk away in a quick motion in order to avoid a broken nose.

Under him, Dean moaned and whined as Sam licked and sucked and stabbed his tongue inside the now pulsing hole. He wasn't sure yet if he liked the taste; it was bitter but nothing like he'd have expected – if he'd had time to actually think about it. It didn't matter, though, Dean's needy reaction made more than up for anything. It didn't take Sam long to find out what made his brother's squeals increase in volume as well as frequency, and his heart beat madly as he continued to tongue-fuck the tiny hole, wondering how long it would take his out-of-his-mind-turned-on lover to beg for mercy – or more.

It was the latter. When Dean begged for Sam's fingers, Sam drew back in surprise – okay, maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise after Dean's earlier begging for Sam's cock, but until now, Sam hadn't been sure that Dean had really meant it, back at the Hot Hole – and what a Hot Hole he had here right now!

Dean sounded so wrecked that Sam decided not to tease him but get to it immediately. Hoping that his meanwhile copious drool was enough to slick the way, he licked his fingers, then circled the quivering entrance with the pad of his middle finger. Dean pushed back, and the digit slid in without effort. It went in deeper than his tongue, and Sam couldn't suppress a shocked gasp at the incredible heat he encountered.

"Gods, Dean," he moaned, and more slick rushed from his still how-was-it-possible-soft dick. "Want you so bad. Lemme..." He held his breath as he slid the finger in some more, carefully feeling around for the little bump that would, hopefully, send Dean spiraling to heaven.

* * *

A single digit wiggled past his furled muscle and Dean grunted in surprise at the feeling. Whatever Sam had coated his finger with, spit or pre-come or whatever, it caused no pain, just the sensation that the direction was wrong. It only took seconds to get over that. Experimentally clenching around it, Dean whined at the feeling of all kinds of new, untouched places being stroked. 

He should have expected... something special, but Dean had no idea what he was in for. He humped the bed, trying to work with Sam but mostly resorting to the familiar thrusting motions he associated with sex. Just as he pushed his hips down hard, Sam, who'd been muttering above him about making it good, found ground zero. For a millisecond, Dean froze. Then his entire body jerked so hard the bed skidded and hit the wall; something crested so fast he had no control at all, released from within. He was screeching like a banshee at the mind-rending pleasure his brother rubbing at that _spot_ , while from somewhere, not his balls but it made him come none-the-less, he was spurting thick but weak trickles into the covers, all around the head of his dick. "More... more Sam, god moooorrre!" 

Every press forced more juice from inside him, making a mess which he ground into like some kind of feral animal. By the time the groundswell had ebbed, Dean figured out he was half-hard even while still dribbling. He doubted his balls had anything but dust to give but damn, he didn't want it to end. Mindful of Sam's hand, he rolled to his back and blinked up at the man who'd just blown his mind, panting from the exertion that went with orgasm. "Izzat... what it's like for you, so fuckin' powerful?" 

* * *

At first, nothing happened. Dean was visibly struggling to keep from squirming as Sam slid his finger in and out of the tense little hole. Unlike Sam, Dean had never felt the urge of having his back entrance played with, so Sam couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like for his brother. Just as he was wondering if he should suggest stopping, Dean froze, then bucked hard and released a piercing scream. Sam almost lost contact with the spot he'd just found, but quickly made sure to locate it again and prod it with a gentle fingertip.

Dean went wild. Sam already knew how hot it was when Dean begged him for more in bed, but this was... something else entirely. As he continued to carefully rub the tiny gland, he felt connected to Dean in a sense he'd never perceived before. There was relief that Dean got off as hard as Sam on this, and that was as if a weight was taken off Sam's shoulders because it made them equals in bed. It was only now that he realized how feeling like 'the woman' in their newly-found relationship had affected him. 

Free of this burden, Sam felt a jolt of pleasure when his dick started spitting in sync with Dean's clenches around his finger. He still wasn't hard, but his brain was beyond attempting to figure out how this was even possible as he moaned and whined, until eventually Dean rolled away from him. Oversensitive, Sam figured. He could relate.

Still panting, Dean asked him if it was so intense for him, Sam, too, and a wide smile spread over Sam's face. "Definitely. And I hope you'll do it to me over and over, although I should tell you that I just... kinda... blew my wad."

* * *

"S'r'ously?" slurred Dean. He repressed the ebullient urge to giggle like a little girl. "That's awesome. Never got why dudes would take it up th' ass, other'n because the other dude wanted to fuck." 

Disbelieving – well, not really but it was far beyond his experience – that Sam had come again without a hand or mouth anywhere near him, Dean cast a look under his lashes at Sam's crotch. There were smears of what looked and smelled like semen pooled on his thighs, thick like white sludge and barely dripping. If he'd been hard, Sam would have sprayed it a lot farther, up on his own belly and chest or on Dean somewhere, but this was different. It must have felt like caramel, when Sam let it go. "Yeah, you did, huh? I see that. But... How?" Then he added, "Did it hurt?" 

* * *

"Yeah, well, now you know," Sam said. It sounded lame but his brain wasn't fully back online. Besides, Dean immediately followed up with another question.

"No, it didn't hurt. Quite the opposite, it was extremely pleasant." Sam blushed and groaned when he felt the flush. Why would he blush over talking about sex when he'd just licked his brother's ass without being the slightest bit ashamed? "It did feel weird, kinda," he admitted, "but in a very nice way. Never had that happen before, though, so maybe you could convince me to lick you again one day," Sam beamed.

"Another day, I mean," he clarified when he felt a huge yawn rise in his throat. "I know we agree that we want to get out of here as quickly as possible but that incu-succu thing really wore me out. Do you think we could nap for a while before leaving?"

* * *

Sam wasn't the only one whose brain had gone offline. About all Dean could manage were affirmative grunts and half-smiles at what he hoped were appropriate times. "Some day..." he murmured back when Sam brought up a future repeat. Some day... like maybe tomorrow. But he didn't even have the energy to joke, nor to blush over his over-eager reception of Sam's 'gift' of rimming him. 

Flinging one arm out, Dean found the towel he'd tossed on the bed earlier, in his haste. The rough terrycloth would be more absorbent than their bedspread, although he was willing to bet he'd still have to sleep in the wet spot. He'd made quite a puddle. It did the job, but it wasn't exactly soft, which Little Dean _was_ , and it felt like his entire groin area was chafed from the inside, out. Rather than causing Sam any discomfort from too-rough handling, Dean folded the towel over once and offered it to Sam to clean himself off. The two of them drizzled and produced more 'stuff' than he'd been lead to believe was normal. Sometime when they weren't OD'ed on sex he'd have to ask if Sam's pervy college buddy had had any comments about... quantity.

When Sam yawned wide enough for Dean to count all his fillings, Dean did, too – yawns were always contagious. Sleepiness pressed down on him from all sides like thick layers of gauze. Before he conked out naked with no covers, he wiggled under the blanket and between the sheets. "Gonna crash... c'mere," Dean invited. "Sleep with me..." Flopping onto his side, he held up one arm for Sam to be the little spoon. So much it almost pained him, he couldn't wait to feel his brother's long, warm body against him.

* * *

"Sorry, I should have licked you clean," Sam said when Dean winced as he wiped down his clearly sore groin with a towel that looked stiff as a floorboard. When Dean handed him the thing a minute later, Sam got confirmation from his own sore groin that the towel didn't deserve its name as it was indeed stiff as a floorboard.

His yawn proved to be contagious, and Dean didn't take long to slide under the blanket, holding up the sheet for Sam and inviting him in. However, there was...

"Um, I'll be right back." Sam squirmed. "Just gotta... You know..." He hated his bladder.

* * *

"Oh... righ'..." Dean's tired brain grasped that Sam needed to pee again, and his brother's escape to the bathroom confirmed it. He followed Sam's progress away from him, the sway of his sinuous, long back and the alternating flex of his buttcheeks, vaguely disappointed for even a momentary delay in them being curled up together. Sleep was too heavy – he wasn't going to stay awake long enough to watch Sam's return. 

Some indeterminate time later, Dean felt rather than saw Sam crawl into bed. Sam's scent surrounded him, them his arm. Burrowing against his warmth, Dean spiraled further down into the blackness.


End file.
